Evolution
Author: Kate Wrath
Date: 2014-11-12 05:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Dystopia; Science Fiction; Young Adult; Fiction; Fantasy
Description: Outpost Three is still standing… barely. But the deadliest threat it has ever faced is on its way-- a violent force that will annihilate every man, woman, and child. With the Sentries under his control and Grey’s army defeated, Matt is more powerful than ever. Eden is little more than his prisoner, but that line is blurring as her affection for him grows. Now, as the Outpost faces total destruction, Matt must sacrifice the possibility of attaining Eden’s love in the vague hope that her past might hold the key to saving them all. Eden’s journey will begin to unravel the mysteries of her previou

Text copyright© 2014 Patricia A. Doherty

All Rights Reserved

Cover art copyright© 2014 Patricia A. Doherty

All Rights Reserved

For Dad

…for stories
drunken pilots
and bears
zip lines with your sister on your back
hurricanes
swimming mightily for the bottom

…for laughter
and campfires
and sweeping me off the sidewalk
for cookies and tutus
teaching me how to punch
for not caring
for caring too much
for words
and wisdom
bragging
stubbornness
and mm-mm-mm

You might not remember

But I will.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1:  Jane

Chapter 2:  Revelations

Chapter 3:  The Voice

Chapter 4: Two Minutes

Chapter 5: Not My Problem

Chapter 6:  Bets Are In

Chapter 7: Caged

Chapter 8:  Tidings

Chapter 9:  Fifth

Chapter 10:  Spirit

Chapter 11:  Violent Property

Chapter 12:  The Inevitable

Chapter 13:  In the Snow

Chapter 14:  Underworld

Chapter 15:  Pyromania

Chapter 16:  Eden and Apollon

Chapter 17:  Final Beast

Chapter 18:  Ruins

Chapter 19:  The Dead

Chapter 20:  Learning Curve

Chapter 21:  What You’ve Been Looking For

Chapter 22:  Let’s Go for a Drive

Chapter 23:  Boneyard

Chapter 24:  Girls Rule

Chapter 25: Agony

Chapter 26: Nuts

Chapter 27: Passage

Chapter 28: Good Ol’ Fate

Chapter 29: iPad

Chapter 30: Any Such Thing

Chapter 31: Used To

Chapter 32: Ghost of Christmas Past

Chapter 33: The One

Chapter 34: Specter

Book Three: Eden

Acknowledgements

Connect with Kate

Chapter 1:  Jane

The skeleton is washed white, purified by the sun.  She lies exactly as she fell, fleeing their bullets.  It took me a long time to find her.  Now I sit by her bones, amongst the tall golden blades of frosted grass, and strain to remember his voice—the tone and inflection of it.  The sincerity.  The wonder.  All I hear is the rush of wind through trees too tall—through a forest dense and dark enough to be a passageway to the underworld.

Behind me, the rustle of footsteps in the leaves signals Jacob's impatience.  I ignore him for a moment.  For as long as I can.  Until he says, "I don't get it, Eden.  It's a dead deer.  Can't we go yet?"

I close my eyes and take a deep breath, in and out, fighting down my anger.  It's not his fault.  He never asked for the privilege of following me around.  If I hadn't freaked out about the Sentry....  I glance back toward the wall, where his brother, Taylor, has taken up a post.  He looks just as bored.  Just as cold.

Seeing them reminds me how chilled the earth is.  Frozen hard, but warmed beneath me just enough to be damp.  It sucks the heat from my legs, leaving my flesh frigid despite its coverings.  I've hardly noticed it until now, though.  Maybe it's because I'm already so cold inside.

I stagger to standing and brush off my pants.  Looking at the remains again, I feel like I should say something, or do something.  But there is no farewell here.  No acceptance in parting.  No way to ever say goodbye.

I walk away toward Taylor.  Jacob follows me, just like he's supposed to.  My explanation is beyond awkward, but it's all I have.  "She was a white deer, you know," I say.  "There are stories about them.  They're special or something.  Holy."

Jacob glances at me sidelong as we trudge through the grass.  "Sounds religious."

I wave him off.  "So?" I say.  "There's no Law in the Outpost anymore."  To make my point, I glance back the way we have come, past the barrier that once confined us.

He just frowns, and I can read it on his face.  There's law.  Just different law.

Against my will, I think of Matt.

Taylor falls in with us, and we walk along the wall, which, in many places, is nothing but rubble.  Here and there, men are rebuilding it, patching in the holes.  It doesn't matter so much, because Sentries are stationed along the breaches, casting their blocky, inhuman shadows across the heaps of broken concrete.  There are two of them standing watch at the gates.  Their mirrored faces turn toward us as we approach, making my insides squirm.  Conquering them has brought no relief to the feeling of menace.  Besides, I am not their master.  Matt is.

We pass by the machines, and slowly, my heart rate returns to normal.  Inside the gates, the Outpost is still in disarray with everyone working hard to put things back in order.  A group of men are putting a new roof on a small outbuilding that collapsed in on itself.  A middle-aged woman is nailing boards over a broken window.  A father and son are loading bodies onto a cart, to haul to the bonfires that have been set up in the shantytown.  But no one is scraping the blood out of the mud.  No one is going to erase all the signs of our disaster.

A chill wind whips down the street and across us, emphasizing the fact that it would be better to be indoors.  I'm not ready to go home yet, which doesn't leave a lot of options.  I stuff my hands in my pockets, duck my head, and stride toward the Rustler.  People get out of my way, and it's not because of the two big guys trailing in my wake.  They see me, and move.  Some of them offer greetings in the form of uncertain mumbles.  I don't reply.  I just keep going, thinking about the warm whiskey, and a barstool where I can turn my back on the world.  Ponder my troubles.

I still haven't figured out exactly how I'm going to drop this news on Matt.  I should have brought it up already, but the first day after the executions kept him busy.  Not that I was ready yet.  Now, I'm running out of time.  I'll need to choose my words carefully, so sitting and nursing a drink for a while will give me a chance to internally rehearse them.

We intersect the main street, and I cross to the far side immediately, walking along the raised curb and its broken concrete.  I don't want to have to cross farther down, where pools of black blood are still frozen in the middle of the road.  I don't want to have to look at it, or think of it.  I keep my head down, and walk.  We cross an adjoining street, and pass under Sarah's skeleton, dangling from the post above Canson Morganson's store.  But at least I am used to that, now.  It's not fresh, like the other.

As we approach the Rustler, I close my eyes and trail one hand along the wall to guide myself.  I hear someone scramble to get out of my way, banging off of something and cursing.  I don't care.  They're not cursing at me.  No one would dare to curse at me.

I shove the door open and get ready to head for my barstool, but Fate has other plans.  The Rustler is about half full, and most of its patrons are Matt's men.  At one table, a group of local businessmen includes Canson Morganson, Isaiah Bones, and Pete Sumter, whose daughter was executed the night before last.  Lloyd is there as well, and some faces I don't know.  An older woman with a nose like a hawk.  Two young men with the same dark hair and golden eyes.  A grey-haired man wearing a curious top hat.  They are all listening intently to Matt.  At least, until he looks up and sees me.

A grin slinks across his face, marking him in an exceptionally good mood.  He's animated, vivid, with light almost pouring from his hazel eyes.  It's the Matt that pulls you in—that makes you feel privileged just to be in his presence.  Not the Matt with the gun pointed at your head.  Not the Matt with his finger on the trigger.

He kicks his chair back and rises to his feet, abruptly ending the meeting.  "As you can see, gentlemen," he says, arms opened in a gesture like an embrace, "the world is mine."  He then leans his hands on the table and levels his eyes at me from across the room, his smile turning smug.  One of his eyebrows goes up just a touch.  "Every king needs a queen."

Their eyes flick to me, some of them half-turning in their chairs.  If I was smart, I would humor him.  But I'm angry.  Stupid and angry.  I wave him off with one hand and move toward the bar, where I take a seat, back turned toward them all.

Arthur Adner places a shot glass on the counter in front of me, and pours from the good bottle.  He doesn't greet me or make eye contact.  His hands shake just a touch.  Behind me, I hear chairs scraping the floor as the group at Matt's table gets up and heads for the door.  Footsteps move slowly toward me.  Matt leans one elbow on the bar to my left.  His smile now is half-cocked, saying he won't be so easily discouraged.  I glance at him, then turn back to my drink, downing it in one go.

"Bad day?"  He asks, as if my disdain could not possibly be directed toward him.

I signal Arthur for another drink.  "Bad week."

Matt laughs softly.  If you asked him, it's the best week of our lives.  He shifts and his eyes narrow.  "You're not still mad about the Sentry, are you?"

I give him a withering look.

"Ah," he says.  He hops onto the stool next to me.  "I honestly didn't think it would bother you, now that they're... you know... ours."

It's not the Sentry.  Not really.  Nonetheless, I turn my eyes on him and say, "You didn't think it would bother me that you had a giant metal robot stalk me?  One of the same giant metal robots that once—that—"  I can't continue.  So maybe it is the Sentry.  Partly.  I grab my new drink, making Arthur abruptly finish pouring, and down it like the first.  I set it back on the counter and he tips the bottle toward it again.

Matt eyes the glass as my fingers close around it.  I narrow my eyes at him, challenging him to say something.

"Go for it," he shrugs.  "I think I like you better when you're drunk."

I toss my head, grab the drink, and pour it into my mouth.  As the smooth burn moves down my chest, I realize my head is spinning.

"It was for your protection," Matt is saying, but I'm already hoisting myself off the stool and heading for the door.

Jacob and Taylor are waiting there for me—my new Sentries.  I scowl at them and move past them, out onto the sidewalk, where I turn and look down the street.  They collect behind me, waiting to see where I will go.  I stand there, and gaze toward Canson's store.  I'm about to get even stupider, but the whiskey has made me bold enough not to care.

I point toward the corner.  Toward Sarah's bird-cleaned remains.  "Go take that down," I say.

Jacob and Taylor are behind me, but I can feel their hesitation.  I can feel them exchanging glances.

"Go," I say, my voice demanding it.  "I want her down from there."

Their feet shuffle slowly into action, but it is as sluggish as a summer's evening.  I'm not even sure if their movement is toward their assignment, or just movement in general.

The door behind us swings open, and they are suddenly still.  I glance back, where they're exchanging mortified, guilty glances under Matt's glare.

He looks down the street toward what's left of Sarah.  "You heard her," he says.  "Go."

Jacob and Taylor hightail it toward the corpse.

I turn and eye Matt, and he gazes back at me.  How long will he let me get away with this kind of thing, I wonder, before it gets old?

He looks off toward the brothers, who are climbing onto Canson's roof in an attempt to get at the body, then his eyes scan off toward the west wall, where the afternoon sun is only a foot or so from disappearing.  He moves toward me, and puts his arm around my shoulders, squeezing.  "Come on," he says.  "Let's go home."

Chapter 2:  Revelations

We eat dinner at the dining room table in silence—roast chicken, wild rice, and baked apples with cinnamon.  Jess and Alayna quietly see to our every need, pouring whiskey for Matt, and wine for me.  There's apple cider as well—hot and spiced—which I spend more time on than any of the rest of it.  I'm still getting used to eating food again.  A few bites, and I'm full.  Matt encourages me to eat more, but I shove my plate away.  My nerves are shattered and food is the last thing on my mind.  The only thing I want to do is run, but I can’t.  I have to make myself play this out even though every moment is drenched in fear.

We move into the parlor, where the huge fireplace is filled with snapping vermillion flames.  Matt sits in his armchair with his feet on the ottoman.  I squeeze into the other chair beside Valentine, who raises her pink snout to sniff at me, but makes no other protest.  Her hind end is neatly covered in bandages—Alayna's work, I suspect.  I feel sorry for Valentine, so I try not to displace her too much, though it annoys me that a pig gets better medical care than most of the people in the Outpost.

"Once she's better, that chair's all yours.  No pig.  I promise."

"Sure."  I'm just looking at the fire, watching the colors move.  I rest one hand on Valentine's hairy head and sink back into the chair.  In my mind, I try to finalize my words, but really, I'm thinking about so many other things.  All the things that have slipped through my fingers.  Things that are lost.  My family.  Myself.  I breathe in slowly through my nose and try to focus on the only thing I have left: Miranda.  What’s taking her so long?  The restlessness swirls around inside of me.  I try to smother it, but I sigh despite myself.

"I think we should have a talk," Matt says.

I look at him, the flicker of the fire playing across his face.  "Yeah.  Good idea."  This is the perfect opening.  If I can just play this the right way, then it might be OK.  Everything hinges on this moment.  This is it.  My ticket out of here.

He leans forward in his chair, his face very serious.  "I know the battle was hard on you," he begins.  "I know you're new to this.  Not used to—"

"The battle," I snap.  "The battle was hard on me?"  I may have held back when we were in public, but nobody else is around now.  Valentine lifts her head and looks at me, sensing my anger.  "Don't you mean the part where you shot seven people point blank in the head?  Is that the part you're talking about?"

Rather than the return hostility I expect, Matt looks uneasy.  His voice is still calm.  Actually calm, not the deadly calm it turns when he's about to do something violent.  "I knew you didn't understand."  He shifts his weight.  "I had to do it.  If I hadn't—"

"Had to?" I ask.  "Seriously, you had  to?  You couldn't have just—"

"What did you want me to do?" he snaps.  "Let them go?  The people who were trying to kill me?  The ones who wanted to give the Outpost to Grey?  Do you have any idea how evil he is?"

"Him?" I snap back.

But Matt's not done.  He's out of his chair and pacing in front of the fire.  "I already let the real ringleader go.  Jonas.  Do you think he would have let me go, if it were reversed?  Or would he have killed me?"

I open my mouth, shaking my head, but the answer does not come out right away.  No, I want to say.  No, of course not.  Instead, I stutter, "Jonas was just trying to look after us.  He wouldn't have...."

"He wouldn't have what?  Put a bomb in my car?"  Matt gives me a meaningful look.

I stare at him with my mouth open.  There is no answer.

After a moment, Matt's gaze softens.  He moves toward me, leans over the chair with his hands on the arms of it.  "Look, Eden," he says, scanning my eyes, "this is the bottom line.  Everything that happened here was complete chaos.  I put it back in order.  It took seven lives to do it.  But that's it.  Seven.  You don't see anyone out there on the streets going crazy.  No one is killing each other, or looting.  They're all building things up.  Making it better again.  And this time, it's going to be better than it ever was before."  He retracts his arms and returns to the fire, where he turns his back on me and stands, warming his hands.  I stare at his back and think of what he's said.  I try to find a hole in his logic.  But five minutes in, I'm still trying.  He has to be wrong.  There's no way he can justify killing seven people.  But what if he is right?

Eventually, he turns back to me and I'm still staring.  He reads it on my face—my shock—and turns his head away, looking at the floor.  For a long while, we’re quiet.

Finally he says, "You're new to this.  I know it's hard."

What he means is I'm new to everything.  To life.  I've got about four and a half months of experience beneath my belt, all of it harsh.  But before that, nothing.  All of my memories were taken away by the Sentries.  Again, I find myself wondering what I did to deserve that.  Could it have been something like what Matt did?  After a moment, I realize he's still waiting for a reply.  All I can say is, "Could it ever be easy?"

He puffs air out through his nose, and gives no other answer.

For a moment, I allow myself to consider that Matt might be a good thing for the Outpost.  I want to brush the thought away.  Discard it as craziness.  But things have been so bad.  What if he's right?  What if they could be better?  What if, when I leave here, I could do so knowing that all the misery will fade not just from my memory, but from the Outpost for real?  I sit forward in my chair.  Valentine grunts to tell me she doesn't like my wiggling.  "I believe you could make it better," I say.  "If you only had a chance.  But there's not.  We're still..." I lower my eyes.  "We're still going to die.  All of us."

His eyes narrow on me, but he doesn't move.

I wait.  Let it sink in.

He clears his throat.  His voice is husky when he says, "What do you mean, Eden?"  A subtle note underneath fills me with caution.

I look up at him now, and let sorrow fill my face.  I feel no real regret at the possible loss of my own life, so I think of Oscar.  I give myself just a moment to remember what it felt like when the Sentry carried his dangling little body away.  "We're all dead," I whisper, and it’s suddenly too close.  Too real.  I can see them coming in my mind.  Hear each metal footstep.  My voice breaks.  My words come faster. "We never had a chance against them.  I thought I could save us.  Thought I could really go there—shut them down.  But it's all a dream.  It's not clear enough.  And it's too late, now.  Too—"

"Hey, hey...."  Matt slides the ottoman up to my chair and sits in front of me.  He brushes my cheek with the back of his hand, wiping away tears that I was not aware of.  His fingers clamp down on mine, steadying me.  I'm shaking.

He meets my gaze, pauses.  Finally, he says quietly, "It's not as bad as you think."

"It is," I insist.  Every word is true.  My voice is filled with terror.  For his sake?  For all of ours?  I've lost the ability to distinguish.  "They will come.  They're linked.  Don't you see?  For every one that we’ve killed, more will—"

"I know," Matt says softly.  But there is no urgency in his voice.  No fear.  He smiles at me, and squeezes my fingers.  "I've got it covered.  We'll be OK."

I sputter uncertainly.  The world threatens to yank itself from under my feet.  "I can— I can still—"  I'm looking around the room, trying to find my words.  My voice becomes calmer, but still insistent.  "I knew how to disable them.  It's in my head.  I can shut them down.  All of them.  If I can just go to this place...."

His eyes scan mine, analyzing.  "I'd like to hear more about that," he finally says.  His words are steady, testing.  "But there's no need.  Trust me.  I've thought of everything.  You have absolutely nothing to worry about."  And he smiles.  His eyes search my face in concern.  Or is he studying me?

I attempt a small smile.  My stomach turns.  Matt is wrong.  I have everything to worry about.  This was my whole plan—to force him to send me away.  To take my friends—what’s left of them—with me.  It’s true that the Sentries are linked.  We’re in real danger.  It should have worked.  He should have been filled with alarm at the realization.  But somehow Matt’s beaten me to the punch.  I’ve underestimated him yet again.

There’s a long silence.  Matt breaks into a mischievous grin.  “Or should I say, all you have to worry about is me.”  His eyes are smoldering as they meet mine, saturated with lust and glowing with victory.  I blush under his intense gaze, but half of it is from knowing that he’s seen through me.  That my surefire plan was so easily tossed aside by my adversary.

I force myself to smile at him.  “Nothing new there.”  I watch my fingers play on the arm of the chair.  Then I say, “I’m not worried about you.”  It’s an utter lie, but I make it sound good.  My lips curl into a soft smile as I look at his face.  “You don’t scare me at all when you’re not shooting people in the head.”

His laugh is dark and sultry as he leans closer.  His hands go to my legs, his fingers curling behind my knees.  “You’re a brave girl.”  He tugs me suddenly a bit closer, making me grip the arms of the chair.  “You have to be careful when you play with fire, though….”  A smile stretches sensually across his lips.  “Unless you want to be consumed.”

I roll my eyes, pressing one hand to his chest to fend him off while I wriggle back into place in the chair.  Valentine snorts and throws me a dirty look.  “You like me too much,” I say dismissively, hoping I’m not being too bold.  But if I’m stuck here, I have to take some risks to gain some ground.  So, though I want to jump up and run, I push onward with words that could easily turn against me, hoping that they’ll work to subdue him.  “You want my affection.  Not just my body.  Or you would have made me a slave a long time ago.”

He sits back, his eyes dissecting my expression, deciding, like a predator, what to do.  Finally, he says, “I think you’re pretty fond of me already.”

I force a laugh through my nose, crossing my arms over my chest, and look bored.  All the fear is deep inside.  I refuse to let it out.  “Well, at least you’re confident.”

“Mmm,” Matt says, a noise of acknowledgement.  He’s thinking.  I don’t like it when Matt is thinking.

“Every time I start to believe you have potential you have to go and ruin it.”  I realize as the words come out that if anyone else talked to Matt like this, they would probably end up dead.

He closes his eyes for a moment, making me sure that he’s holding his temper back, but when he opens them, he’s smiling.  “Ruin it?” he asks, as if I’ve said something incredulous.  “Last I remember, you and I were going down, guns blazing, dying in each other’s arms.  If that’s not romantic—”

“As I said,” I interrupt boldly, “potential.”  I meet his gaze solidly.  “Then you ruined it by killing everyone.  And then you had the Sentry stalk me.”

He laughs quietly through his nose.  I want to squirm under his gaze, but I make myself return the stare.

“Well,” he says quietly, “at least I never bore you.”  He’s serious now.  He leans closer and touches my face.  “Everything I do,” he whispers, “is to protect you.”

It takes me a second to find my voice.  When I do, it’s incredulous.  "You tried to kill me!"

His hand drops and he sits back.  He tilts his head from side to side, mouth open.  "Once or twice," he finally admits, a grin creeping onto his face.

I rise to my feet and move past him toward the fire.

"And really," he says, coming to join me, "if you count all the times I should have killed you, but didn't..."

"I don't think it works that way," I protest, crossing my arms as I face him.

He smirks.  "What?  Like you never wanted to kill me?"

I have to think about it, but I draw a blank, which surprises me.  "I believe I actually saved your life...."

He laughs.  "Oh, you mean falling off the barstool?  I don't know if I'd call that saving my life.  And anyway, if it was, I repaid that favor almost immediately.  For which you thanked me by trying to bite off my fingers."  He holds up his hand to display the scars.

The corners of my mouth twitch.  I try to fight it back and fail miserably.  “Then there’s the whole giving you control of the Sentries thing,” I say, trying to cover.

Matt ignores the words and moves closer, but doesn't touch me.  "See how much we've been through together, Eden?  How much we've accomplished together?  We're cut from the same mold."

I stare up at him, afraid to say anything.

His gaze softens.  He runs the backs of his fingers lightly down my upper arms, making me shiver despite myself.  "Tell me what you want," he says softly.  "I want to be the one who gives it to you."

I withdraw a small step—enough to make his hands go away.  I sigh, and close my eyes, then look up at him, shaking my head.  "I don't know."  I'm already moving toward the door.  "I'll have to think about that."

Chapter 3:  The Voice

Upstairs in my room, which happens to be directly across from Matt's room, I close the door.  My fingers hesitate on the fact that there is no lock.  I glance around the room, wanting to find something to wedge in front of the door, but I already tried the chair and it wouldn't work.  This will be my third night in this room and it is not getting any easier.  After what happened, Matt insisted that I stay with him.  For my protection.  Terrified, I insisted that I wanted to be with my friends.  Now Miranda has a room down the hall.  I am not supposed to see Jonas.  Neveah and Apollon are simply gone without a trace.  And Oscar….  My little Oscar.

I have to push that thought away before it consumes me.  So here I am, locked—or not locked—in this room, like a princess in a tower.  Matt insists I'm safer here, which I don't believe and certainly don’t feel.  I tell myself I'm here because he wants to keep an eye on me after everything that happened.  But I don't really believe that either.

I don't bother lighting the lamps.  There's enough moonlight coming in the window to see my way to bed.  I take off my boots, but sleep with my clothes on.  I crawl into a bed softer than angel feathers.   My knife, tucked beside me, is my only sleeping partner in the spacious nest.  The pillow my head sinks into smells sweet and clean.  The blanket is knit of the gentlest wool.  I should feel like a princess in this tower, but all I feel is trapped.  I lay in the dark, listening to the noises of the house.  After about an hour, I hear footsteps on the stairs.  They stop on the landing.  I hold my breath, my fingers sliding toward my knife.  Blood surges into my ears, pounding against the silence, making it hard to hear anything when I need to hear everything.  I jump at the noise of the door opening.  But it’s not my door.  It’s the one across the hall.  It shuts again softly.  I let out my breath, panting.  I swallow the panic, close my eyes, and listen to the tears hitting the pillow.  Every nerve in my body is jolted awake, and every new sound—the settling of the house, noise from the streets—sets me on edge again.  I can't sleep here.  I'm so tired, but if I ever sleep it will be a miracle.

I'm not sure how long it's been—a couple of eternities, probably—when I hear footsteps running up the stairs.  I sit up in bed, confusion and terror pulsing through my brain before the steps even lead to my door.  Before the soft knock.

"It's me," Miranda says, and I let out the breath I was holding in.  I draw my hand away from my knife, put my palms over my face, and take a moment to just breathe.

"Come in," I say in my most normal voice.  The words sound forced.  When Miranda opens the door, she gives me a sympathetic look.

She closes the door gently behind her and comes to sit on the end of the bed while I fumble with the lamp.  When it's finally lit, I set it on the bedside table and turn back to her.  "Well?"  I want to restrain myself, but I can't.  "How is he?"

She sighs, picking at the blanket.  "Fine."  She doesn't look at me.  "His head's healing up nicely."

I nod.  Jonas took quite a knock to the head the night of the executions, and a beating as well.  I was too busy gaping at all the brains splattered everywhere to see him fighting to get away from Matt's men—fighting to go stop what I could not.  Maybe that's part of why he's mad at me.  I was useless.  I left him there.  I didn't even look back.  Miranda was supposed to explain to him how lost I was.  I was in shock.  I just let myself be jostled into the flow of the night.  Everything swam around me, dizzy, frightening, out of control.  But now, looking at Miranda, I'm not sure she said anything of the sort.

"And?"  Why can't she just spit it out?

She shakes her head, frowning.  "He doesn't want to see you.  And he doesn't want you to keep sending me, either."

I stare at her wordlessly while the words sink in.  I swallow, and my throat sticks together.  "But... he has to understand," I insist.  "If you could just make him understand."

Miranda is still shaking her head.  "He understands, Eden."  It almost comes out as a snap.  "Maybe he's right.  Maybe you should just... stop."

I'm blinking back tears before I know it, which is the last thing I want to be doing.  I look down at the blanket, and one of them drops into the wool.  It's a big tear, too.  Hard to hide.  So I reach for my face and wipe my eyes once, then sit up straight.  "Sorry.  Everything has me just... emotional.  That's all."  But underneath, my mind is racing with questions, fixated on the impending grief of losing Jonas when I’ve only just found him.

Miranda looks uncomfortable, as if this hasn't been distressing enough.  Not that long ago, she and Jonas were... something.  For all I know, they might still have feelings for each other.  Does she have any idea what he means to me?

"I just don't want him to hate me," I say weakly.  There's so much more that I want to add, but how could I ever put words to it?  How could Miranda, with all her memories intact, understand what it meant to me to find a missing piece of my past?

"He doesn't hate you.”  Her voice is incredulous.  There's a pause as she struggles for words.  "He's just... processing.  Give him some time.  This has been hard for everybody.  And how would you feel if he singlehandedly squashed your rebellion?"

"Not singlehandedly," I say.  "You helped."

She gives me a smile that could also be a frown.

I feel the tears still pressing at the backs of my eyes, tightness clenching down in my throat.  “There are so many things,” I say, wanting to cover for the emotion that I am barely containing.  “Apollon and Neveah….”  As if speaking the thought gives power to my worry, my chin quivers.  I purse my lips and try to hold it all in.

Again, Miranda hesitates, eyes falling.  Her mouth forms a straight line.  Finally, she speaks, her voice so quiet I can barely hear her.  “Someone said that Matt has Neveah.”  She looks up from the floor and meets my gaze.

“What?”  My vision is blurred by tears.  “Is it true?  What about Apollon?”  Worst-case scenarios play out in a brain-blur of horror.

Miranda squints at me.  “You need to ask him, Eden.  You need to get him to—”

“To what?  What am I going to get him to do?”  I throw off the covers and stand up to pace the cold floorboards.  “Do you think I can do anything?  Would I be here if I could?”

She watches me for a moment, then says, “You can.  You have to.  You’re the only one who can.”

I stop where I am and stare at her, unease sinking into me.  Neveah.  What if it’s true?  Why does Matt have her?  Is she OK?  Apollon….  I close my itching eyes and rub them with my thumb and forefinger.  Apollon and Neveah—either of them would do anything for me.

“You have to, Eden,” Miranda whispers again.  I’m still rubbing my eyes when I hear the door.  I look and Miranda is gone.

Again, I’m alone in this room.  And now the alone part really sinks in.

***

Dawn is just breaking.  I’ve been awake all night.  My head is splitting and I can’t think straight.  But I catch Matt on his way out the door.  He looks me over, his gaze showing concern.  I must look as rough as I feel.

“Neveah,” I say.  We’re at the door, but I plant myself a few feet away from him, out of his reach.

He closes the gap.

“Don’t.”  I fix him with a defiant glare and his hands drop before they touch me.  His eyes search my face, trying to see what I know.  I don’t plan on giving that away.  When I speak, I sound like him—deadly calm.  “We had a deal and I think you’re breaking it.”

He sighs and looks away, his jaw twitching with impatience.  But somehow, when he looks back at me he seems unbothered.  “She’s perfectly fine,” he says.  “I was only questioning her.”

“Questioning her?”  The confirmation that he’s got her should fill me with relief, but I feel panic and frustration instead.  “How can you question her?  She doesn’t speak!”

He gives me a solid, deadpan look.  Finally, he says, as if he’s not troubled at all by my discovery of his deceit or by my disapproval, “My men found her hiding in my tunnels.  Who knows what she was up to down there.  Our deal was that I would forget about things that had happened before.  That was all.  Anything you or your friends have done from that point on is subject to my judgment.”

“She hasn’t done anything.”  I feel like I might lose it and start screaming at him at any second.  Neveah is the kindest, gentlest person I’ve ever known, and he’s questioning her?  “You can’t punish her for something she hasn’t done.”

“You don’t know that,” Matt says.  “If she hasn’t done anything, why was she hiding?”

“Because you are terrorizing the Outpost with giant robots!”  My voice is louder and higher-pitched.  I feel everything about to break loose.

Matt laughs at me and turns away.  He starts to walk toward the door.

“Let her go!” I shriek, taking a step toward him.  I stop myself as he turns on me.  I’m not sure what I was going to do, and neither is he.  A look of warning flashes across his face.  My fists are clenched at my sides.  I’m trembling.  “Let her go,” I say again, but my voice lacks the conviction of a threat.

Matt shakes his head and again turns to the door.

“I want to go home,” I blurt, sounding exactly like a child.  “I want to go home right now!”

He turns on me, but he only looks frustrated.  “We already talked about this, Eden.  You’re here for your safety.”

“Like hell I am.  I want to go home.”  I take a big step toward the doorway, meaning to push past him, but Matt intercepts and in the blink of an eye has scooped an arm around my waist and pressed me up against the doorframe.

“You’re staying with me,” he says quietly.  The calmness of his voice sets me on edge.  “It’s already been decided.”

I squirm against his grip.  “I didn’t decide anything.”

“Well I did.”

Struggling is not getting me anywhere, and I’m pretty sure he’s enjoying it.  I become still, forcing myself to relax, and return his gaze coolly.  "I don't like your decision.  Seriously." I try to keep my voice level, though my stomach muscles are contracting in response to the way he’s holding onto me.  "What makes you think it’s yours to make?"

His lips curve into a little smile.  "I think I get to make all the decisions, Eden.  Or didn't you notice that?"

I glare up at him defiantly.  "So much for that part where we work so well together.  This is exactly what I meant about you ruining everything.”  My anger has pushed caution away.  "What're you going to do if I don't listen?  Put me in a box?"

His expression flickers briefly before his jaw sets.  My whole body tenses in anticipation of what he might do.  But then his face softens.  He leans in, his fingertips tracing lightly along my jawline.  "No," he says quietly, hoarsely, his breath touching my cheek  "I wouldn't do anything.  To you."

I break my arms free to pound on him, but he has my wrists before I can get in more than one blow to his chest.  Physically restricted from striking him, I open my mouth to tell him exactly what I think of him.  I don’t give a damn what might happen once I say it.  “I—”

He drops my wrist to press his fingers to my lips, silencing me, like he knows exactly what I am about to say.  With my wrist now free, I immediately take up the opportunity to use it, but Matt says “Don’t.”  The word, uttered softly, his gaze, requesting rather than ordering, cuts off my response.  Confusion hits me in the chest.  My anger shifts to indecision.

“I’ve always treated you well,” he whispers.  “You’re comfortable here.  And you’re safe.”

Safe.  The word drips with meaning, with reassurance.  Part of me wants to strike out against him, but that word scatters the last of my ill-intent.

His fingers fall from my mouth.  He lets go of my other wrist now and reaches up to brush my hair from my cheek.  His gaze is all tenderness, which only makes my confusion wrestle around uncomfortably inside of me.  I’m too aware of how close he is.  Of his scent.  Of the warmness of his expression.  The way his fingers tickle on my cheek.  “Eden,” he murmurs, “let this go.”  He looks into my eyes for a moment more.  Turns to leave.

As he moves away, I know that I’ve been beaten.  That I’ll do as he’s asked.  But there is something I can’t let go, and I’m terrified that I’ve lost when it comes to that as well.  My heart pounds in my head, my failure weighing on me before it is even complete.  Matt is walking away.  Neveah.

“Please,” I call after him, my voice strangled with panic.  “Neveah?”

Matt stops a few paces into the street and turns to look at me.

I force the words through my constricted throat, though I feel like I can hardly stay on my feet.  “You asked me what I wanted.  I want you to let Neveah go.  Leave her alone.”

An easy grin falls across Matt’s face.  “I like how we’re beginning to work through our differences.”  He spins on his heels and struts away.

The brief surge of hope is cut off by the crushing weight of my total defeat.  Everything inside me protests in a knee-jerk reaction.  Before I even realize what I’m doing, I’m yelling after him, “It’s a start!”

Matt keeps walking like he doesn’t hear me.

***

I'm wandering down the street in the early morning sunlight, my two shadows stalking along behind me.  They don't talk much.  Either they're not supposed to, or they're afraid of saying something wrong.  Either way, they're not much company.  Not enough to distract me from the worry.  I didn’t ask Matt about Apollon—another failure.  Is Apollon a prisoner, too?  Is he even alive?  Kicking these thoughts around inside my brain kept me busy for a while, but the pain is getting old.  Wearing on me.  It’s not just Neveah and Apollon.  It’s Jonas, and Sentries, and my plan fallen flat on its face.  These worries inevitably lead to the same conclusion.  I might have to stay here.  There are a thousand other frightening thoughts to go with it, but they're all anchored to that one.  Staying.

I’m walking the edge of panic.  So I try to think of something else—of some way for us to escape.  I tear through the list of prospects, discarding one after another.  The possibility of leaving this Outpost without Matt's permission is non-existent.  If we want to leave, I have to convince him to send us away.

I wander a while longer, trudging along with my head down and hands shoved into my pockets—something I seem to be doing a lot of lately.  All my emotions are buried carefully inside me—longing, loneliness, fear.  I’m on my own now.  Miranda is busy with whatever she’s been assigned to, not that we’ve ever been close.  Jonas is forbidden.  If I thought for a second that he wanted to see me, I would risk everything to do it.  But he doesn't.  So I don't.  I suppress the feeling to numbness, but I’m aware of it nonetheless.  My heart is entirely burnt up with grief—a loose lump of ash still in the original shape.  But the slightest wind will blow it all away.

I’m so empty already.  Longing for a friend.  I’ve got Matt.  That’s about it.  Convenient for him.  I consider this revelation as I wander, suspicion growing deeper and stronger as I turn it over in my mind.

I’m in the middle of the marketplace when a voice rises on the air.  Everyone freezes.

Female.  Calm.  Spoken, but loud enough for all of us to clearly hear every word.  There is a sense of multiplicity in the voice—not one woman, but hundreds of the same, speaking perfectly in synch.

"Residents of Outpost Three," it addresses us.  "You have violated the Founding Principle of the New World Covenant."

Wild, blank looks fly around between us as we all check each other's faces for understanding.  Is a Sentry talking?  The Founding Principle?  What is that?  A new Law?  Impossible.  We've broken plenty of the old ones, surely.  But this?

"As such, this Outpost has been marked for cleansing," the voice continues in unconcerned authority.  "All residents are to be processed for erasure.  Form a single file line at the Outpost gate.  You have two minutes to comply.  Any resistance will extend the punishment for all residents to immediate death."

Chapter 4: Two Minutes

Faces are white, living corpses.  A girl beside me stumbles and clings to an older woman at her side.  Horror manifests in widened, staring eyes, and then in sobs.  Wailing.  People are calling out for each other.  Trying to find family members.  Friends.

I've only one hope.  If I get in that line, I'm dead.  Jonas and Neveah.  Apollon, if he still exists.  We're all dead.  We've already been marked once.

Two Sentries come sprinting through the marketplace toward the gates.  I ditch out of the way, narrowly avoid them.  The girl next to me screams as her leg is crushed.  I grab her arms and drag her further out of the main path, watching the backs of the Sentries disappear.  They’re ours.  They’re going to defend us.  Matt does have a plan.

A clash of metal sounds at the gate.  People are shrieking, running.  An explosion.  Smoke and flames billow skyward, marking the battle that is happening at the gate.  More Sentries are coming from the opposite direction.  This time, we’re lucky not to be in their path.  They turn off before they reach us and run to join the battle.

Taylor’s arm scoops around my waist and hauls me up.  “Let’s go,” he says, even as he pulls me away.

“No!”  I’m reaching for the girl who is sobbing, shivering.  She’s in shock.  “We have to help her!”

Jacob’s eyes dart in her direction, consider the older woman who has now made it to her side.  “She has help,” he says.  His brother nods.  Each of them grab me by one arm and get us walking— fast— toward the Rustler.

We stay out of the street, where chaos rages as people flee in all directions and more Sentries run toward the gates.

I’m looking over my shoulder, straining to make out what’s happening as they drag me along.  There’s only smoke and fire and clashing and crashing.  A piece of metal goes flying into the air, spinning, spinning on its way down.  It seems to take forever to fall.  A cloud of debris tosses into the air as it crashes through a roof.  More screams.  Then we’re at the Rustler, through the door, behind the bar, and Jacob and Taylor are shoving me into the dark hole beneath the trap door.

I growl under my breath as I allow them to push me in.  A new kind of animal fear competes with the fear of the battle.  My stomach turns.  I close my eyes, shivering, and tell myself that the darkness is only because I have my eyes closed.  I’m not in a hole.  I’m not in a box.

The door thuds closed above me, and I hear Jacob and Taylor shuffling beside me in the darkness.  They don’t say a word or try to move me any further into the tunnels.  This should be good enough.  We should be clear of any scanners, so long as we’re quiet.

But in the dark, I think of Jonas.  Of Neveah.  And try so hard not to think of Apollon.  Are my friends safe?  Will they make it?  Will I have lost all of them when this is over?  For a brief second, an image flashes in my mind, burning there.  Me, Jacob, and Taylor climbing from the trap door, emerging into a broken, battered Outpost in dead silence.  There is nothing.  No one.  Everyone has been erased or slaughtered.  The flash moves to Oscar.  To his happy little smile.  To dangling feet.  I crouch low, leaning into the wall, hugging myself, biting off a wail.  Fear and rage and grief and disgust.  I could have stopped this.  I could have made this stop, if Matt had let me.  I have to get out of here.  Find the white tower.  Destroy the Sentries once and for all.

***

Moments or hours later, when the screaming and explosions have been replaced by voices and quiet footsteps, we open the trap door and climb out.  We walk out into the street and look around.

There is still smoke pouring into the sky near the gates, but other than that, no sign of destruction.  The streets are mostly quiet, vacant.  Across the way, a girl and a boy are huddled together on the curb, sobbing quietly.  A group of men are talking in low voices on the corner by Canson’s store.  One of them glances our way, sees us, and detaches himself to come talk to us.  It’s Julian Moore.

He stops in front of us and nods uncertainly, “Eden.”

“Hey Julian,” I say, sounding incredibly normal.  My voice doesn’t even shake.  “I take it we won?”

“Looks like it.”  He looks off toward the gate.

“Any news?”

Julian turns back to me, his eyes scanning over me.  “A couple of people got hurt,” he says.  “Your friend is tending to them.”

“My friend?”  My heart jumps as I realize.  “You mean Neveah?”

He nods.  “Looked like she had her hands full.”

I have to force myself to calmness.  “Where is she?”

“Just in the marketplace,” he says, tilting his head that way.

I’m off and running.  I barrel down the street, Jacob and Taylor on my heels.  I don’t stop until I see her.  At a small distance, my feet skid to a stop on the broken pavement.

A cluster of people is gathered around a covered stall where they have moved a few wounded people to shelter.  Laid out on the ground are three people, one of them the girl whose leg was crushed.  Neveah is on her knees at the girl’s side, her arm around the girl’s shoulders, tipping a bowl with some concoction into her mouth.  Probably something for the pain.  I sigh, my body flooding with relief.  The girl could not be in better hands.  And Neveah looks OK.  She looks unharmed.

Even though I am longing to rush to her, I know I can’t disturb her now.  I would just get in her way when she needs to concentrate and do what she does best.  She already has a few helpers— likely family members of the wounded.  So I watch from a distance for a while, allowing the relief to wash through.  For now, that has to be enough.

But inside, as the newness of the relief begins to wear off along with the shock of the battle, I’m thinking, plotting.  Neveah is free.  We need to get out of here more than ever.  The Sentries may have been held off for now, but that won’t last long.  More will come.  More will always come.  And that voice.  Unease rises within me as I remember.  We’re marked for destruction.  This will never stop, unless I stop it.

But we can’t leave without Apollon.  Not as long as there’s a chance that he’s alive.  I have to find him.

I turn and stroll down the street, saunter into the Rustler like the world is mine.  Everyone seems to think that’s the way it is, so why not make that work for me?  The bar is packed full of people desperate to retreat from the nightmare we’ve just experienced.  The tables are all full, but people make room for me at the bar as soon as I walk that way.

Arthur starts pouring the good whiskey when he sees me.  I wave my hand to encompass the entirety of the Rustler.  “A round.”  Not that I have any money.  Arthur pulls out a different bottle and starts pouring, anyway.

That’s all it takes to get everyone’s attention.  Tense whispers fall to silence.  I spend a moment looking from face to face.  The men who were talking on the corner are here, including Canson, Lloyd, and Julian.  I used to play cards with them.  Now they stare at me in awe like I am an entirely different person.  Then there’s a number I can’t put names to but recognize none-the-less.  My two bodyguards lean up against either side of the door, arms crossed, looking cautious and amused.  They’re waiting to see what I’m going to do.

I raise my voice loud enough to carry the question to the whole bar.  “Does anyone remember seeing Apollon during the battle with Grey?”

Nervous glances fly around, quickly followed by incoherent murmurs and downcast eyes.  Perhaps they expected me to offer words of reassurance after our recent ordeal.  Maybe that’s what Matt would do.  But I don’t have time for that.  I want to know where my friend is.  Now.

I scan through their faces and gestures, looking for any sign that someone knows something.  There’s a man in the back who is still looking around.  He glances at me.  His gaze quickly falls to the floor when he sees I’ve noticed.

“Spit it out.”  My voice demonstrates exactly how thin my tolerance is at the moment.

He clears his throat, tries to talk, and has to clear his throat again.  When he speaks, his voice is shaky.  He’s afraid of me.  All these people are afraid of me.  “He was…  I saw him not far off the marketplace, when the battle had just begun,” he manages, finally.  “He was with that woman.  The herb-dealer who doesn’t talk.”

“Neveah?” I’m spluttering, before I even realize I’m saying it out loud.  The thoughts come crashing together in my mind.  Matt had Neveah.  Apollon and Neveah were together.  Does Matt have Apollon?  And he’s not even admitting it?  Anger and fear drain the blood from my face.

I turn around and down my drink, absorbed in these thoughts.  Dismissed, the others go back to their hushed conversations.  Only when I turn to walk out of the bar do I realize that their words are whispered quietly, hidden from me.  I stop at the door and allow my eyes to scan over them.  Tension.  Fear.

This thing with the Sentries has them more riled up than I realized.  Perhaps I missed it because I was so focused on my own worries.  On getting me and my friends out.  What I didn’t realize is, as much as this development bothers me, I saw it coming.  At least most of it.  The fact that the Sentries showed up wasn’t a surprise for me.  But for them, it’s total shock.

Not good for Matt.

Not my problem.

I turn and stalk out the door.

***

I’m panting, bent over in an alleyway, hands on my knees.  A sudden start, lots of twists and turns, a shortcut through a crumbling building, and I seem to have lost Jacob and Taylor, at least for a moment.  I’m pretty sure they’ll guess where I’m headed, so I’ve got to get there before them and be gone before they arrive.

I run the backstreets toward the northeastern side of the Outpost, where our little shack is huddled against the concrete wall.  I go straight to the door to let myself in, but it won’t open.  Locked.  I pound on it urgently.

“Jonas!  Let me in.  I need to talk to you!”

Nothing.

I pound again.  “Hurry!”  My heart is twisting inside me.  What if he won’t?  He has to be in there.

Still nothing.  I drag in another breath.

“Please!”  I pound with both fists now.  “It’s important.”

His voice: “Go.  Away.”

I fight back the tears.  “Jonas.  Please.”  I sound so defeated.  “Just two minutes.  That’s all I ask.”

Silence.  I lean my forehead against the door, listening for anything.  For the sound of him coming to let me in.  But there is nothing.

Time is up.  I can’t risk staying any longer.  Can’t risk what Matt would do to me or him or both of us if he knew for sure that I was here.  I turn and rush off down the street.  I put plenty of distance between me and my old home, then trudge, hands in pockets, face turned down, until Jacob and Taylor find me.

Chapter 5: Not My Problem

There are whispers on the streets.  A feeling.  When people see me, they look down and away.  Pretend they weren’t discussing what they were discussing.  But I have a pretty good idea of the panic that is silently running through the channels of the Outpost.  I haven’t seen Matt, so I don’t know if he’s aware of it.  If he’s prepared for what’s about to break out.

I return to the Rustler, where I sit in a corner and nurse a drink.  I’m ignoring Jacob and Taylor, silently trying to figure out how I’m going to find Apollon and escape with all my friends.  An idea is forming.  I tap one finger on the table, staring at my whiskey.  That’s where I’m at when Matt shows up, crowd in tow.  They’re full of questions, cautious, but bolder than I’d expect.  I suppose their fear of the Sentries is pushing them forward.

Matt raises his hands for silence.

They quiet down.

“I’ve got this situation under control,” he says, looking as unbothered as ever.  “No one is going anywhere.  The Sentries are protecting us.  You have nothing to worry about.”

“But the voice,” says Pete Sumter, the cannibalistic butcher whose daughter died at Matt’s hand.  He has every reason to want this to go wrong.  “You can’t tell us not to worry about that.  How could you have it under control, when none of us even knew that Sentries could talk?  You’re not saying you knew, are you?”

Matt gives him a smile that sends a chill down my spine.  “It doesn’t matter if they can talk.  They’re gone.  They can say whatever they want.  Until they’re dead.”

“But surely more will come,” says Sumter.  Everyone realizes this now.  Sentries respond to the death of Sentries.  And he has a point.  We know so little about this enemy.  But what he’s missing is that Matt wasn’t talking about Sentries.  He was talking about Sumter.  The butcher is as good as dead.

The crowd is murmuring nervously.  Some of them realize what I’ve realized, and they’re shuffling back, toward the door.  Better to get out than to be associated with any dissent that might occur.

Matt waves Arthur Adner over.  “It’s been a long day,” he says.  “Let’s have a round to calm everyone’s nerves.  Then back to work.  There’s still a lot to do.”

As the drinks are passed out, I notice Matt registering my presence.  But I’m up and out the door before he can join me.

***

I go to the marketplace to look for Neveah, but she is nowhere to be found.  I’m guessing she’s gone home.  For a moment, I consider trying to get away from Jacob and Taylor once again, but they are more vigilant now, trailing me closer.  They’re afraid of being in trouble with Matt if they lose me.  Can’t say I blame them.  Anyway, even if I was able to get away long enough to return home, what’s to say Neveah would let me in?  Though she was aware of the crystal that sparked the plan to side with Matt, Miranda and I didn’t exactly include her in the plan’s execution.  Does she feel as betrayed as Jonas?  Would she listen to me?

If I want to get out of here along with my friends, I’m going to have to convince both her and Jonas.  I’m also going to have to talk to Miranda, though part of me hesitates.  She’s been working for Matt, and I’m not one hundred percent sure where her loyalties lie.  Even if she is technically on my side, it’s possible that she might tell Matt my plans if she thinks I might fail… because if I do, we’re all in hot water.  Matt has already warned me about ever betraying him again.  Next time, I’m dead.  No joking or batting of eyelashes will get me out of that.

It’s a good thing I’m dead serious.  For now, since I need to find Apollon before I can act on anything, I spend my time doing reconnaissance.  I wander the streets looking bored and moody, and count up Sentries.  I make mental notes of where they tend to station themselves, how far apart they are.  Before, I unwittingly gave Matt the Sentries when I figured out how to pull the crystals that control them.  Now, I can take away that control by the same method.  I can pull and destroy their crystals one by one.  But I know that as soon as I remove the first crystal, another Sentry will come running.  I’ll have to plan it carefully so that I can get all the crystals without being slaughtered.  Of course, I’ll have to watch out for Matt’s men as well.  Maybe, once I find Apollon, he can help me convince Jonas and we can all coordinate an attack.  That would be infinitely more doable.  But then… will Apollon listen to me?  My breath freezes up as I remember Elaina Sumter staring down the barrel of Matt’s gun.  I was responsible for that.  I’m not sure how close she and Apollon were, but I suspect now that it was closer than I knew.

There’s another problem, too.  Even without the Sentries, Matt is a powerful foe.  He has eyes and ears everywhere— some of them trailing me right now.  If I disable the Sentries, we’ll still need a plan to escape the Outpost.  Maybe this growing tension can work to our advantage….

For now, I begrudgingly return to Matt’s house.  The sun is sinking behind the wall of the Outpost, and I can’t really do anything until I figure out where Apollon is.  I sit in the parlor and wait for Matt to return, ready to fling a million questions at him.  Ready to demand the answers.  But Matt doesn’t return.  I imagine all the many things he must be preoccupied with while I pick at the dinner that  Alayna and Jess bring me.  Eventually, I give up and go to bed, determined to get some rest so I can approach the next day with a clear mind.  I hardly sleep at all.

***

I rise early in the morning, but Matt is still nowhere to be found.  If he’s been home, he’s already left again.  I head down the street looking for him, Jacob and Taylor right behind me.  Neither of them have any idea where he might be— at least, that’s what they’re telling me.

I make a quick circle of the Outpost.  Not at the Rustler.  Not in the marketplace.  I don’t find him by walking any of the main streets, though I do pass by Sumter’s butcher shop.  The front window is broken, blood on the shattered glass.  It looks like the place has been looted.  I turn my thoughts away from Pete Sumter.  The fact that I never liked him— that he tried to kill me once— is little consolation.

We continue on.  As we approach the gates, I’m gawking at the wreckage of the wall.  Some men are rebuilding it yet again.  But that’s not what really gets my attention.  There’s a group of people with packs strapped onto their backs.  They clearly want to leave.  A couple of Matt’s men are blocking the way, but they’re not the power here.  There’s also a Sentry.  If not for the robot, these people could easily overpower the guards and get out.  As it is, they’re darting nervous glances at each other.  Planning something.  I stop at a distance and watch.

A couple more tense words exchanged with the guards, and their plan breaks into action.  Four men rush forward to subdue the guards.  Simultaneously, another drops his pack, pulls out a knife, and takes on the Sentry.  I watch in complete awe as the robot’s hand closes around the man and yanks him into the air.

The guards are down.  The man in the Sentry’s grasp moves his knife toward the metal plating on the Sentry’s chest.  Clearly news has gotten around, and they know how it’s done— how to remove the crystal.  Thoughts race through my mind.  Can I help them if another Sentry comes?  Is it too early to enact the rest of my plan?  Is there any way I can make this work for me?  Maybe we can escape sooner than I thought.

As the man pries at the compartment, the Sentry’s free hand closes around his arm.  Pulls.  Flesh rips.  Bones break.  The man screams.  Blood spurts onto the metal plating and runs in rivulets to puddle at the Sentry’s feet.  Next to the puddle, something thuds onto the ground.  The arm.  The fingers are still twitching.

I turn to the side and throw up.

***

I’m on my third shot of whiskey, and only beginning to calm down.  I’m still shaking a little.

“Are you OK, Eden?” Taylor asks from behind me where he’s standing watch with his brother.  “That was some pretty gruesome shit.”

I don’t answer.  I’m not OK.  That shouldn’t have happened.  The arm.  All the bodies that piled up after it.  None of it should have happened.  Sentries don’t know how to defend against having their crystals pulled.  Unless they can learn, and that’s just preposterous.  Which leaves one other possibility.  Someone programmed it into them.

Miranda waltzes into the bar.  Perfect timing.  She’s with a group of Matt’s men, all buddy-buddy like she’s one of the team.  She looks around, sees me, and excuses herself to pull up a chair at my table.

"Hey," she says.  If she notices how upset I am, she ignores it.  "How’s everything going?"

“Really?  ‘How’s everything going?’  Aren’t your friends waiting on you?”  I glance at the group of men who are still looking at her as they situate themselves at a table.

She frowns.  “Thought I’d check on you.”

"Check on me."  I can’t stop the words or the tone of voice that accompanies them.  I should be asking questions.  Unfortunately, I’m pretty sure I already know the answers.

"Well, you are my friend," Miranda says, before adding in a mumble, "supposedly."

Miranda and I have come a long way, so I push my anger aside.  I want to give her the benefit of the doubt.  Want to believe that whatever she has done, she has done it innocently.  But I need a moment to not think about this.

“Have you seen Neveah?” I ask.  “Is she home?”

Miranda’s frown deepens.  “Should she be?”

I scowl at her.

“I’ve been busy,” she deflects, palms up in a placating gesture.

I take a deep breath.  “She should be home,” I say as calmly as I can.

Miranda’s eyes scan over my face and I can see how quickly she rethinks coming to talk to me.  She starts to get up.

"I'm glad you’re here," I say, before she can leave.  "I have some questions."

She rolls her eyes and sinks back into her chair.  "Here we go."

I glance behind me at Taylor and Jacob, then lean across the table and speak so quietly that only she can hear.  "Did you reprogram the Sentries?"

Her eyes widen.  She glances at my bodyguards.  “You should ask Matt,” she says quickly, starting to retract.  “I’m not supposed to talk about it.”

“One just lopped off someone’s arm,” I say as she stands up.  I don’t give a damn if anyone hears.  “Did you do that?  Did you teach it to do that?”

Miranda goes pale.  The Rustler goes silent.  “…What?”  Her voice is so small.

I read the answers on her face.  The guilt.  She purses her lips, but her chin quivers.  She takes a deep breath and lets it out.  Her face becomes composed as she regards me quietly.

I cast a dark look around the room and everyone starts talking again.  I lean across the table, grab Miranda by the wrist, and yank her back into her seat.  For a moment, we watch each other across the table.

When I speak, my voice is quiet again.  “What else?”

She shakes her head.  Refusal to answer or denial of knowledge— I’m not sure.

“Can you undo it?”

She shakes her head again.  She glances around, then leans in to whisper.  "No."  Her eyes look truly regretful.  "Zane checks everything I write, and he doesn't miss a thing.  He's not that great at writing the code, but he sure can read it.  It's him that took out the part where we could command them in the first place."

I study her face and she fidgets.

Her brow furrows as she goes on.  I think she wants to prove to me that she’s sincere.  “I've been thinking about it,” she says, her voice dropping even lower.  “I've tried to slip in a few small things that might give us some advantage, but Zane always takes them out.  I think, more than anything, that's his job.  To make sure nothing happens to compromise Matt's hold on the Sentries."  Again, she glances nervously at Jacob and Taylor, who are eyeing us from a few paces away.

I purse my lips and stare at the table, the realization sinking into me.  There’s a wave of emotion where I think I’m going to cry, but the pain sinks deep into my chest and turns numb except for the sickly feeling in my stomach.  I meet Miranda’s eyes.  My voice seems to have left me, but my lips move, forming unthinkable words.  “We’re stuck here.”

We sit in silence for a moment.  I down my drink.  My thoughts are like fallout: a drift of ash following the destruction of everything.

I lift my hand to signal Arthur for another drink.  I’m about to get unbelievably drunk.

As Arthur walks toward us with the bottle, there’s a noise from outside.  The voices in the Rustler drop off once again to silence.

The noise is like a giant rush of something.  It repeats itself in long bursts.  Under the main sound, there’s splintering.  Breaking.

"What is that?" I mumble, though I’ve already reached a conclusion.  I've gone cold.  I’ve never heard anything like this noise, but Sentries have to be at the heart of it.  Nothing natural can be making this noise.  Maybe everything will be over sooner than I thought.

Around me, people are climbing to their feet, starting to panic again.  I get to my feet, too.

The noise grows louder.  There's a sort of rhythm to it.  Stop and start.  Stop, and start.  Soon, it's so loud I want to cover my ears.  Grinding, rumbling.  A crash makes the ground shake.

“Come on, Eden,” Jacob says, taking me by the arm.  But I pull away.  I don’t want to hide in the tunnel again.  The tables and bar vibrate.  Our drinks are jostled within their glasses.  Outside, there is the sound of metal footsteps.

I dodge away from my bodyguards and run for the door.  They’re right behind me, but not fast enough.  I throw the door open and gaze wide-eyed into the road.

Sprawled across the entire street, messily hacked off, a huge tree splays its arms out from the opposite curb all the way to us.  As the next noise sounds, the tree dragged into motion, a branch covered in dark green needles swings haphazardly at us.  We tumble back inside as the door slams shut, my back colliding with Jacob and Taylor, who step on the others behind them.  Curses are flung all around.  We barely manage not to end up in a pile on the floor.  The branch scrapes across the outside of the door, rattling it.  A splintering, tearing noise moves down the wall, making me wonder what will be left on the other side.

We right ourselves and stand looking at the closed door.  Another grinding noise rumbles the floorboards.

Miranda finally says, "Was that...?"

"A tree." Taylor’s voice carries the awe we all feel.

"A big tree," adds Jacob.

We stand there and look at the door.  Our eyes follow the noises and crashes down the wall.  Then, finally, it settles.  Whatever is going on outside has come to a stop.  I shove the door open, its bottom scraping a pile of debris, and cautiously peek out.

Sentries are scattered up the street at points along the branches and spine, but all are idle.  They’re ours.  Directly in front of us, another team of them is clustered around the huge, splintered trunk.  Near them, Matt is standing scratching his chin, clearly pondering what to do next in some sort of madcap plan.  Slowly, back the way he and the tree have come, people are starting to peek out into the debris path.  A pool of bold onlookers is gathering at the intersection by Canson's store.

I close my eyes and count to ten.  Not going to die right now.  I compose myself and bury all my emotions.  I still need to talk to Matt.  And nobody else is going to do this, so…

"What's with the tree?" I holler.

Matt glances over, sees me, and waves me forward with a grin.

I sigh and walk into the street.  Each step I take sends chills through my feet.  This is the site of a slaughter.  Even now, I can see the black, frozen puddles peeking from under the branches.  Jacob and Taylor follow me part way, then linger a few feet off.  Miranda has disappeared entirely.

Matt waits for me to get there, then proclaims, "Christmas."

"Christmas?" I arch one eyebrow at him.  “What the hell is that?”

He glances from me to the prostrate tree.  "It was one of the old holidays."

Now I look at the tree, its top stretching into the intersection and part of the next block.  "Are you going to burn it?" I ask.  "A little close to the buildings for a bonfire that size, don't you think?"

He glances at me, but doesn't answer.  Instead, he moves toward the mass of onlookers.  "Get some cables and pulleys," he commands.  "Chains.  Rope.  Whatever you can find."  They scatter in response to his shooing motion.  He turns and walks back toward me, eyeing me.  "What've you been up to?"

I shrug, glancing back toward the curb, where the people from the Rustler are still watching.  "Hanging out."  A surge of emotion tries to work its way into my voice, but I carefully control it.  I’m stuck.  I can’t be stuck.  I need to get out of here.  There’s no way out of here.

"Really."  He regards his tree again.

I watch his face, wondering if he killed Pete Sumter himself, or if he just ordered his men to do it.  Is that where he was when he didn’t come home last night?  Nothing in his mannerisms reveals any discomfort or guilt.  The only thing he seems to be concerned about is his tree.

"You're not going to plant it," I say, following him as he heads toward the team of Sentries at the trunk.  "There's no way it could regrow.  Could it?"

"No.  We're going to decorate it."

I gaze down the street at the length of the thing.  I can’t believe I’m standing here talking to him about this stupid tree.  I have questions.  Important questions.  "With what?"

"I'm not sure yet."

We stand and stare at the woody carcass.  The moment of quiet gives me time to drum up my courage.  I spit it out.  “Do you have Apollon, too?”

He turns his eyes on me and gives me a look.

“Do you?”  I meet his gaze as coolly as possible, and try to see what he’s hiding from me.  But Matt is good at this game.  More than anything, I feel uncomfortable as he sizes me up.  I hold myself very still and wait.

“I don’t,” he finally says.  “And Neveah was headed toward the marketplace the last I saw her.”

My eyes flick past him, over his shoulder in the direction of the marketplace.  I’m still dying to talk to her.  But I force myself to stay and focus.  I fix him with a look that I hope will make him as uncomfortable as his gaze makes me.  “Did you have him?”

His eyes narrow on me.

“Did you kill him?”  I ask the question nonchalantly, like I can save myself from caring about its answer.

He tosses a laugh over his shoulder and steps toward me.  I refuse to back down, but I glare at him, jaw clenched, as he touches my arms.  His smile softens and he says soothingly, “I don’t know where Apollon is.  If I did, I would tell you.”

“Would you?” I whisper, continuing to glare at him.  Apollon and Neveah were together during the battle, right before they disappeared.  Now Matt’s claiming not to have Apollon.  He kept it from me that he had Neveah in the first place.  And he expects me to believe him?  The problem is, he sounds sincere.  I dissect his words for deceit.  For ways he has twisted a lie into something that sounds like the truth.  Matt gives away nothing.  If I didn’t know better, I would think he really didn’t know.

He reaches up to my face and tucks a lock of hair behind my ear.  “Come on,” he says, a little smirk playing on his face.  “You really think I have him locked up in a room somewhere…”

“I wouldn’t put it past you.  If you hurt him—”

His eyes flash a warning that cuts me off before I can get my threat out.  We have an audience here, and Matt’s not going to let me challenge him, especially not with the recent unease.  The words dry up in my throat.  Matt takes my face in his hands and leans close, his words quiet but intense.  “If I were you, I’d forget about Apollon.  He’s gone.  And you don’t need him anymore.”

All I can manage to do at first is glare at him through the tears that are welling up in my eyes despite my best efforts to stop them.  When I manage words, they’re spoken quietly, for his ears only, but that doesn’t stop them from being full of acid.  “Clearly you have no idea what I need.”  I yank my face away from him and stride away.

Chapter 6:  Bets Are In

"Come on, Eden," says Taylor.  His voice has a hint of whine in it.  "Don't you want to get home before it gets any colder?"

I glare at him over my shoulder and keep walking.  Keep looking for some sort of reason not to go home yet.  "I'm helping."  I scoop up a small piece of metal sheeting that is barely attached to a window we pass.  The one rusty nail hanging onto it squeals in protest and lets go.  I hold the metal up and grin at him, still walking.  As I turn away, I catch the look exchanged between him and his brother.  Hours of wandering, and it’s the first piece of metal I’ve touched.  Neither of them are buying it.

"Sure you are," says Jacob, who has proven to be the bolder of the two.  "I bet that's enough to make... Idunno... a firing pin or something."

"You know what they say.  Every little bit helps."  We emerge into a cross street, directly into the path of a wind gust.  I lean into it as we turn the corner, my muscles straining to move me forward against its force.  The metal flaps violently in my hand.  Cold, dry, and biting, in all of two seconds the air makes my ears feel like they've been pinched hard.  Another few seconds, and they're numb, but not numb enough to be comfortable.  We trudge a block in this direction, then take a narrow side alley that offers considerable relief from the wind, but not from the cold.  The sun is an hour past sinking behind what's left of the Outpost wall, and every minute seems colder than the last.  There's not been snow since before the executions, but this snowless cold is worse.  Harsher.  Sharper.  It needles straight through into our bones.  No wonder Jacob and Taylor are complaining.

"Eden," Jacob says.

"What the hell is he doing with it all, anyway?"  I wave my metal at them.

"Dunno," Jacob answers.  "Why don't you ask him?"

"I prefer not to."

Both of them make the same noise through their teeth.

I keep moving down the alleyway though I want to linger in its shelter.  Still, I need to keep moving.  My toes feel like they've been smashed repeatedly.  They're throbbing.  My fingers are stiff and numb.  The cold of the metal is making them worse, traveling up my arms, so I clutch the scrap with thumb and forefinger only.  I try to focus my thoughts on the question, not on the unpleasant feelings in my body.  Not the despair.  I refuse to shiver, holding myself tight, though I have the idea my body is about to stage its own rebellion.  I clench my teeth and focus.  Why does Matt want all the metal?  Everyone has been collecting it since the executions.  Some old buildings have been stripped down to skeletons.  Obviously, he's making something—weapons, most likely.  I should ask Coyote Dan, not that I've seen him recently.  I've heard his name around, though, so I know he's still alive.  And probably busy running this project for Matt.  So what are they making?  More big laser guns?  A few of those would go a long way toward providing the Outpost with some decent defenses.

"You don't want to make him mad," Jacob says.  "Freezing us all to death is bad enough, but you really don't, Eden.  You should go home."

I throw a glare at him.  "Here."  I shove the metal toward him. "Hold this."

"It's true," Taylor adds as they follow after me.  "You made your point, I'm sure.  Now you should go home."

"I don't remember asking for your opinions."  We hit the next street, and the wind blasts into my face.  I stop and step back.  My teeth are chattering.  I growl through them.  Wrapping my arms about myself, I turn and regard my two companions.  Neither of them look very comfortable under my gaze.

Again, they exchange uneasy glances, then Jacob says, very soothingly, "It's just like cards.  All the bets are in, money's on the table, and you have a good hand.  You just have to call.  If you do, you take it all.  But if you get scared and fold, you end up with nothing.  So what're you gonna do?"

I narrow my eyes at him.  "Seriously?  Cards?"

He shrugs.

Taylor jumps in.  "Whatever crap analogy, it doesn't matter.  Point is, you have some choices to make, and not everybody gets them.  This is the way things are, and it's not going to change, whether you want it to or not.  So you can make the most of it, or you can piss everything away.  But Matt's offered you a pretty nice option.  You should seriously have a think about it."

My eyes narrow even further.  "Did he tell you to say that?"

They both roll their eyes incredulously.

I turn my back on them.  It's all very nice for them to talk about cushy options, but what they're not saying is that there really is no option.  Accept Matt happily, or accept Matt unhappily.  Is that what they're calling an 'option'?  Because where I'm standing, it doesn't seem like much of an option at all.  I may put him off for a while, but it won’t last long.  Matt’s patience has a limit.  My time is running out.  And there’s no way to escape.

I step out into the street and feel the shiver run through my entire body as the wind catches me.  Whether they're right or wrong about anything else, Jacob and Taylor are definitely right about getting out of the cold.  I’ve been all over the marketplace three times looking for Neveah.   I desperately need a friend to talk to.  But she’s probably at home, now.  At  home, where I am not allowed and no longer welcome.  I hold back a tide of bitterness and grief at the thought.  In between excursions through the marketplace,  I spent a great deal of time at the Rustler, and wasted even more time wandering around Canson's store.  I'm running out of places to go.  More than anything, I want to go home.  Really home.  But there is no such thing for me anymore.

I drag my feet back toward the southeastern side of the Outpost, where Matt's house sits prominently above the others, looking solid and imposing, if not fresh.  It's built better than anything else in the Outpost, as far as I can tell.  Every time I step inside I have the feeling of being somewhere else, like this place belongs to a world different than the one we live in now.  The foyer alone is bigger than the entire shack where I lived with Miranda, Apollon, Jonas, Neveah, and Oscar.  Six of us in that little space.  Six of us in one bed.  But it wasn't too small.  This house, with its many rooms, feels so much smaller.

I close the door quietly behind me, leaving Jacob and Taylor on the other side.  Standing there silently with my hand on the knob, I consider slipping back out again.  How long will they wait on the other side of the door to be sure I am safely tucked in?  Muffled voices filter through the door.  Their footsteps do not move away.

"If I didn't know better, I'd have thought you got carried off by a Sentry," Matt's voice says from the parlor.

I sigh, walk to the doorway, and look in on him.  He sits in his favorite chair with his feet propped up before the fire.  Valentine raises her head to look at me from 'my' chair, and snorts.

"Alayna kept some dinner warm for you."

"I'm not hungry."  It's an obvious lie, and it annoys him suitably, judging by his expression.  He has a thing about me being too thin.  But most of us are, aren't we?  More than food, though, I want to be by the fire.  Its warmth beckons to me from across the room, but I don't even look at the fireplace.  "I'm tired.  I'm going to bed."  I turn and leave without waiting for a reply.  Somehow, Matt beats me to the stairs.

He stands on the first step between me and my destination.  I stop and glare up at him.  “Move out of the way.”

“What are you going to do if I don’t?” he replies.  “Put me in a box?”

His words are so unexpected that my anger turns to confusion.  I narrow my eyes at him, trying to hold onto it.  “If I had a box and a giant robot that listened to me, I just might.”

He winks at me.  “Good thing the giant robots are mine.”

“Are you going to move out of my way?”

“You can’t go to bed without dinner.”  He fixes me with a look that says he is no longer playing.

“I.  Want.  To go.  To my room.”

Matt shrugs and steps aside.  As I hurry past him, he says, “I’ll have Alayna bring something up.”

I reach the landing and look back, sighing heavily.  I open my mouth to tell him not to bother, but he speaks first.

With a little grin, he says, “Unless you prefer that I bring it myself.”

My glance turns into an angry glare.  “Don’t you dare,” I mutter, jerk the door open, go in, and slam it after me.  I spend the next ten minutes pacing and fretting over the possibility that the food will arrive in Matt’s hands, not Alayna’s.  Adrenaline surges through my whole body.  When there’s a knock at the door, I answer it with my knife drawn.

Alayna’s old yellow eyes go a touch bigger, then look away from me.  She hurries past me with a metal tray laden in a delicious array of sliced meat in gravy, apple chunks sprinkled with cinnamon, and a steaming cup of tea.  As much as I want to reject it, the food is far too appealing.  Alayna leaves me alone to eat, and I munch in silence, trying to forget how angry I am.  Trying to forget that I’ve lost everything.

Chapter 7: Caged

Sleep does not come easily, though I'm so exhausted by now that I do sleep some.  I toss and turn.  I wake at every noise.  My dreams are troubled by Sentries and Matt.  At some point, I have a glimpse of the white tower I’ve been dreaming of for months, but it has moved farther away than ever.  In my dream, I experience a dreadful finality that I will never reach it, and nestled within that finality is the sense that I will never be complete.  I wake in darkness, breathing hard, feeling like I have seen my own death occur within my life.  Somehow this is worse than normal death, which is an ending.  This death goes on and on.

An hour before dawn I'm staring wide-eyed at the ceiling, trying not to panic.  My whole body is gripped with unspecified horror.  I force down each breath.  I tell my heart not to explode.  Frozen, I clench my fists at my sides and wait for something to make it all stop.  For some event, some change, some sign.  The sun rises and its rays spill in the window, first slowly, then in full brilliance.  I'm not sure when it happens, but sometime between then and now, I become capable of moving.  Of pretending to feel normal, if not actually feeling normal.

I rise, stand in front of the wall mirror, and stare at myself.  Who is this person?  I still don't know.  She looks young, and beautiful, and strong.  I feel the exact opposite of all these things.  Four months of life is a thousand years.  My soul is stained with death and despair.  I am so, so tired.  There is still so much that separates us, and yet, there are things that we share.  We have both lost everything that mattered.  First her, then me.  I touch the mark on my forehead, closing my eyes.  When I open them and gaze at her, my hand slips to my mouth.  I lean in and pull down my lip, where the name 'Jason' is printed clearly in the mirror's reflection.  My mind rearranges the letters automatically as I read them.  Jonas.  I shudder as I drop my hand, staring through the tears at this person, who must love him.  Once, I assumed the name must be a slaver's mark, but I was wrong.  My name on his lip binds us to each other.  At least, in a different world, where we were free to choose, it bound us to each other.  There is sorrow in the thought—sorrow and loss.  The long, painful pull of losing someone and having no recourse against the grief.  But I'm still not sure if it's her grief or mine.  The intensity grows to something so full I cannot deny it, but then I'm sitting on the edge of my bed rocking with my arms wrapped about myself, and I'm thinking about Oscar.

That's real.  Oscar was real.

I stand up and move to the dresser, allowing my fingers to slide over the slingshot that rests on the surface.  For just a moment, my mind touches the memory of Matt placing it back in my hands.

The knock on the door makes me jump.  I bat the tears away from my face and turn toward the door just as it swings open.

Miranda sticks her head in.  “Just checking on you,” she says, coming all the way in and leaning on the door.  “You know.  Like a friend would.”

"You freak me out when you act like you care."  I make my voice light and cocky, and give her a smirk to go with it.

It must be convincing because she laughs.  “I saw Neveah,” she says.  “Thought you’d want to know.  She’s fine.  Same as always.”

I nod, wanting to ask more, but finding myself unable.  I want to see her myself.  “Thanks.”  I grab my jacket and move toward her.

She opens the door.

We emerge into the hallway at the same time that Matt is coming out of his room.  "'Morning ladies," he says, glancing at us before heading toward the bathroom.  He's wearing a towel wrapped about his waist, and nothing else.  In the half a second before I look away, I can't help but appreciate the way his smooth skin is sculpted around an unexpectedly chiseled torso.  Miranda is still gawking at his back as he makes it to the door.  I turn and head down the stairs, and call over my shoulder flatly, "'Morning."

Miranda catches up with me at the bottom, grinning.  Her cheeks are flushed.  "Lucky you."

I level my eyes at her and keep moving toward the front door.  "When I'm queen of the world, I'm going to have your head on a stick."

"Don't be jealous," she says.  "I was just looking.  Besides, he'd give you my head on a stick now if you asked him for it."

I stop with my hand on the doorknob, glancing sideways at her.  "Hm.  Maybe I should go do that."

She rolls her eyes.

"Or," I smile, "if you like him that much, you could seduce him away from me.  I totally won't mind.  Promise."

"Are you sure about that?" she asks.  "I saw your face."

I open my mouth to ask how she could possibly have seen my face when her eyes were glued to Matt, but she's still talking.

"Anyway, Matt could have whatever he wants.  And he wants you.  Not me."

"He can't have whatever he wants," I snap.  "That's why he wants it."  I turn the knob and shove the door open, blinking against the strong morning sunlight and the bitter whip of cold air.

"Maybe you shouldn't play so hard to get, then."

"Maybe you shouldn't be so easy."  I step out into the morning, immediately wrapping my arms around myself.  Miranda is huffing and puffing behind me, but my foul mood leaves me beyond caring.  Jacob and Taylor materialize from the side of the porch.  Miranda strides away without another word.  I watch her back and feel, for just a moment, a tinge of regret.  She's the only thing I have left, and I'm pushing her away.

I head down the street, not sure where I'm going, but needing to be moving.  There's no pretty label for it or nicer way of describing it.  I'm feeling sorry for myself.  And as far as I'm concerned, I have every right.  This life is hell.  The only joy I have ever known has been stolen from me by inhuman hands.  All my struggles for survival have paid off in a life that I have no desire to live.  The choices I’ve made have cost me my home, my family.  I am a prisoner, if not a slave.  All my plans have failed.

But I don't regret it.  Whatever has come, whatever cost I have paid, or will pay, cannot outweigh the evil that did not befall us.  The Outpost has been saved.  It's not perfect.  It's still full of misery and despair.  But it is not beyond us.  It is not an unimaginable nightmare.

Even the Sentries seem to have been defeated.  Maybe more will come, but Matt’s Sentries can continue to fight them off.  We might be safe.  We might have a chance.

So I’m stuck here.  Well, I’m not sitting around anymore and watching this mess fester like an infected wound.  If I’m going to be here, it’s damned-well going to be a different Outpost than before.  Matt might be in charge, but I saw their faces.  People are afraid of me.  I can work with that.

I head for the Rustler, which has always been the center of things in this miserable place.  I’m not even sure what I’m planning on doing.  Just that I have to do something.  The streets are quieter this morning.  Some of the tension is gone.  Matt’s tactics of fear and reassurance seem to be working.

Before I even turn onto the main street, I can see the top of Matt's big tree towering over everything.  It bends and sways in the wind, making me wonder if I want to get any closer.  Once I come around the corner, I see the crazy network of cables holding the thing up.  They run away from it in all directions, attaching to the buildings all around.  Most of them are high up, but some stretch across the street.  Now people have to go over or under them to pass by.  There is no avoiding Matt's Christmas.

I move along the sidewalk by Canson's store, and cannot help but glance up.  Sarah's body is gone now, but her ghost must still be here.  There must be so many ghosts, really.  My eyes go to the tree again, towering against the sky.  It casts a dark shadow over the ground so that I cannot see the blood stains.  I wonder at the point of it.  What it means.  Or what it meant.  All I see is something that shouldn’t be here.  Trees belong to the world outside the Outpost.  The world of Oscar's white doe, and so many other mysteries.  That world does not belong to us and we do not belong to it.  What is Matt trying to say by bringing this giant here?  Is he preparing us for his next move?  Does he really mean to rule the world?

I shiver, looking away.  I walk through the door of the Rustler, making myself think about other things.  Deliberately turning my thoughts away from comparisons between Matt and Grey.  Inside, the warmth moves through me comfortingly at first.  I sit down at an empty table, needing a moment to think.  A short while later, I realize I’m still cold.  I’m also still not sure what I intend to do.

Luckily, this is sorted out for me when a group of men at one of the tables suddenly raise their voices far above what could be considered civilized conversation.  I turn my face to watch them.  They’re too embroiled in their dispute to notice me.  They’re all barking at each other so fiercely I can’t make out a single word.  Heartbeats later, one of them is reaching for a knife.

“Stop!” I command, rising to my feet and slamming my empty shot glass down on the table.  I’m surprised they even hear me over their own chatter, but they do.  And they freeze.  As a matter of fact, every single person in the Rustler freezes.  There is dead silence.

I grab onto my early success before they can recover or think about anything.  “What the hell is going on?” I ask, frowning, tapping my fingers on the table in annoyance.

Uneasy glances fly around the group of men until one of them has the courage to say, very politely, “Sorry, Eden.  We didn’t mean to interrupt your drink.  We’ll take it outside.”

With grunts of agreement and mumbled apologies, they all start to move toward the door.

“Nah-ah.”  I stand up straighter and cross my arms.  Again, they freeze.  This time their eyes widen with new alarm.  “I want to know what’s going on.”

They all consider me, a mix of disbelief and fear playing in their eyes.  The fear seems to be winning out.  The same one who spoke before now says, “OK.  You made your point.  We’ll take it to Matt.”

My eyes narrow on him.  “Matt’s busy,” I growl.  “I’ll handle it.”

Surprise and amusement adds to the mix as their eyes flick around again in unspoken communication.  I’m losing ground quickly.  Time to bring back the fear.

Channeling Matt as best I can, I turn my face calmly to the side to speak to Jacob and Taylor at the door behind me.  “Jacob,” I say, making my voice deadly quiet, “call one of my Sentries.”  Inside, I’m screaming at myself for being foolish.  If they call my bluff— If Jacob doesn’t play along—

But Jacob plays along perfectly.  With a dark look, he steps toward the door.  As he does, Taylor moves to my side, crossing his arms and fixing the group of men with a look that is deadpan and utterly intimidating.

“Wait,” several of the men blurt out at once before Jacob can get out the door.

My bodyguard stops and throws me a questioning look.

I wave him off and arch my eyebrows at the group of men.

They all start spilling at once.

Much as expected, they’re all grappling for the same bit of pie.  But to my surprise, it’s Donegan’s estate that’s up for grabs.  Turns out the old drug lord didn’t make it to this side of the conflict.  And now that I think about it, I don’t recall seeing him after Matt put him in the VR machine.

I pull up a chair and sit at the table with the group of men as they fill me in on the problem.  Their voices have once again become polite and respectful.  It might have something to do with my two imposing bodyguards hovering at my back, but at any rate, they’ve bought my bluff.  Now I get to make my first power play.

Luckily, the two groups are still entirely divided, and though the growling across the table is carefully restrained from physical action, it is still growling none-the-less.  These are men who were united under Donegan—I even recognize some of them, now that I’m paying attention.  The story goes, they tried to work together after his demise, but without his discipline, their outfit fell into two parts.  They all think they have right to more than their share, and they’re fixated on getting it.  As a matter of fact, they’re so focused on arguing over property and numbers, they miss the obvious.  I quickly set them straight.

“We divide it down the middle,” Jordan Black is insisting, emphasizing his point with a clenched fist on the table.  “And sixteen-five and an old warehouse is not half, I don’t care what you say.  Not when you consider the other property, and certainly not the equipment and goods in hand.  It’s not even close.”

“What would you say is half?” I ask calmly.

“Twenty-three bare minimum.  Plus the warehouse, still.”

The men across the table are shaking their heads.

“It doesn’t matter if that’s half,” says Ren Sawyer, his scraggly beard waving back and forth with the rest of his head.  “Some of us have been on with Donegan for years and years.  Our share is bigger.  It just is.”

I nod slowly.  “That may be so,” I say, considering them both, “but I think you might find it makes more sense for both of you not to divide it after all, once you consider Matt’s share.”

There is a thick silence while blood drains from faces all around the table.  I avoid smiling and wait.

Ren eventually clears his throat and says in a husky voice, “Matt’s share?”

Now I favor him with an easy smile.  “Of course,” I say, feigning innocence.  “Matt always gets a share when things change hands.  Surely you already thought of this.”

Ren and Jordan meet eyes across the table, and briefly they are united as passengers on a sinking ship.  They’re about to start spluttering, claiming to have remembered Matt, though clearly it never crossed their minds.  I spare them the trouble and continue.

“I’m just saying…”  I flip my hair casually over my shoulder as I lean back, “…Ultimately, you all have to decide if you can make business work together or not.  But financially speaking, it makes more sense.  I mean, you’re already taking a twenty percent hit, total.  Now, if you’re splitting things up in addition to that, it doesn’t leave either group with a lot to work with.  And honestly, you’re both going to find your position in the Outpost is incredibly weakened.  Plus, you’ll be competing with each other.  If I were you, I’d seriously rethink splitting up at all.”

The men at the table spend another round of silence thinking before negotiations resume with consideration to the new information I’ve presented.  Honestly, I have no idea if Matt expects a share when property switches hands, but it works for me.  And Matt doesn’t need to know about it.  He’s busy right now.  With a little luck, it will never come up.

The negotiations take a while, and there are problems to sort out far beyond financial disputes.  There are slights and hurt feelings to smooth over in order to patch things up between the two groups.  Turns out, I’m really good at mediating.  Before it’s all over, I’ve managed to reunite Donegan’s men with Ren Sawyer as their official leader, and Jordan Black as a captain with his own crew to manage.  All of them are pleased to maintain their previous operation in one piece, and if they’re not grateful enough about that, they’re downright tickled when I agree to take the warehouse and five percent for now, allowing them to pay the rest of their debt in labor.  By the time we part ways, I’m their new favorite person.  I’m also the owner of a warehouse, a good chunk of cash, and I have a small force ready to do my bidding.  I just have to figure out how I’m going to use it.

***

I head out onto the streets to search the marketplace once again for Neveah.  My ever-vigilant bodyguards trail me down the street silently.  The sun is shining, making it warm enough that they save their complaints for later.  They’re also strangely buoyed by the gold I’ve promised them in exchange for their silence.  Honestly, I’m starting to like them, so if they did complain, I might have to listen, but neither of them speak at all.  In the market, there’s still no sign of Neveah.  I start to wander, looking for her, but I find I’m thinking about my warehouse and what I can do with it.  My first thought is moving in, but I know better than to think I can hide from Matt.  There’s an idea brewing in the back of my mind, but I need to work out the details.  I’m tired of the misery.  Things are going to change around here for real.

My new determination brings on a curiosity about whether there’s any weight to Matt’s claim that things will improve.  As I head for my new warehouse, I scan the Outpost for signs of change.  For hope that things are getting better.  And they are.  Food prices are already going down.  Way down.  The market vendors offer items for sale that would have been impossible to get only a week ago—oil for lamps, onions, apples.  The cake seller has scores of cakes.  There's barrels of rice and wheat.  And the flower peddlers are back, calling "lilies and roses," over and over again.  The sound of my name, my real name, makes me shiver.  I think of Jonas.  Of kissing him.  My soul sinks into that moment like a warm bath, exulting in the brief flare of happiness.  But inevitably the memory leads to Oscar being taken away by the Sentry.  Me crying and screaming.  Jonas holding me back while the metal monster ripped little Oscar out of my life forever….

Overwhelming grief brings with it the urge to run.  But there’s no running.  I just suppress everything and stroll on, denying my heart the right to feel all the things that it clearly feels whether I grant it the permission or not.

As we pass the gates, a large party of men is coming in.  I stop to watch the Sentries swing open wooden barriers that weren't there just yesterday.  Fifteen or so men come through.  They're all recognizable as Matt's.  They carry rifles slung on their shoulders, and behind them they drag a litter piled with animal carcasses—deer, rabbit, something striped.

"What're they doing with all that?" I mumble.

"Feeding us," says Taylor.

I glance at the brothers.

"We have to make up for our lost supplies somehow," Jacob explains.  "The shipments are running again, but there’s still all the ones Grey hijacked.  There's plenty to eat out there.  We’d be stupid not to take advantage of it."

Hunters used to stand inside the barrier all day to wait to fight for one deer.  I wonder how long it takes to catch them when you can go into their territory.  I wonder if there really is plenty out there to feed us all.  The thought is alarmingly hopeful—too good to think.  I can't imagine a world where there is enough for everyone.  Trying to only makes me sad.  Cautious.

"Will Matt let anyone hunt?"  I'm pretty sure I already know the answer.

"It would be chaos," Jacob says.  "He's put together teams to get as much as we can.  But for now, no.  It's dangerous out there.  We still don't really know much about what's beyond the barrier."

A little shiver moves up my spine at the thought of that mysterious world.  "What've they found so far?"

He shrugs.  "Lots of trees.  All kinds of different animals.  Weird stuff, some of 'em.  There's a river, not far.  And a pond, too."

"Have you seen it?"

He gives me a look.  One that says he is unfortunately too busy babysitting me all the time to go see things that are actually interesting.  I give him the look right back.  Not like I asked for it.

"What about the gates?"  I’m wondering if Matt really needs them to keep people in, when the Sentries are there to rip apart anyone who tries to get away.

"Security," Taylor offers.

Jacob elaborates.  "No more travelers or visitors allowed."

"None?"  I eye the wooden structure that now closes off the Outpost's wall.  "What do they do if someone comes?"

Jacob shrugs.  "Turn them away?"

Taylor snorts.  "Not like anyone's coming.  Imagine the stories Grey's men are telling.  They'll spread.  Would you come?"

I shake my head.  "Hell no."

We start walking again.  A group of boys skitter across the street in front of us, one of them lugging a box full of broken glass.  The others are adding to it from the gutters.  I look away from them, and try not to think of Oscar.  I fail miserably.  I'm blinking away tears when I see him: Jonas.  He walks the cross-street with his hood up, head down, hands tucked in his pockets.  I can't see his face.  He doesn't see me.  He just walks across quickly, folded in on himself, like he's hiding from the world.  I realize for the first time that he must be.  He was the leader of a massive failure.  People died because they followed him.  Are they blaming him for what happened?  Is he hated?  Ostracized?  Is he even OK?  Whatever cost he is paying, it’s all because of me.

I stumble onward, considering the weight of my choices yet again.  Wondering if I could have done something differently.  If I could have spared him this pain.  Wondering, if some other way, we could have been together.  Even as I turn away from that thought because it brings too much pain, I think of Apollon….  Is he dead because of me?  Sweet, silly Apollon, with his dimples and shining blue eyes.  The memory of him stabs sharply into my chest, bringing real, physical pain.  I have to keep breathing.  Keep moving.  There are never any answers.  Not any that satisfy.

I deny all the pain and block the memories and dark thoughts as best I can.  Still, I’ve lost the will to do what I intended.  I’m suddenly exhausted.  I head back to Matt’s rather than to my warehouse.  When I get there, I'm still weighted by so many emotions, despite my attempts to deny them.  Somewhere along my path, the white tower has wormed its way into my thoughts.  I’m consumed with the fear of never reaching it.  There is an electric jolt of panic, and after that, rage.  I smother it along with everything else, but it doesn’t take.  I'm seething.

When I walk inside, Matt is already there.

"I have something for you," he says, smiling.

There is a noise—a strange, squeaky noise—coming from the dining room.

I frown, and follow him toward it.  The noise continues.  I don't like it.

A cloth covers something on the table.  Matt removes it.  "Merry Christmas."

I stare, open-mouthed, at the cage.  "What am I supposed to do with that?"  The strange-looking bird inside squawks loudly at me, cocking its rust-colored head.  Its rounded belly competes for space with the tree branch that’s crammed in with it.

Matt shrugs like he doesn't know.  "Whatever you want," he says.  "It's a gift.  It's yours."

My eyes move from him to the cage.  I grab it and head toward the back door.  Matt's footsteps follow me, but I don't care.  I fling open the door and then the cage.  On the back steps, I shake it until the bird emerges in a flurry.  It squawks and flutters, and eventually escapes in a frenzied chicken-like panic.  We watch it go.

Matt looks at me.

"That's what I wanted to do with it."

"OK."

I drop the cage and go back inside.

"Merry Christmas," comes Matt's voice after me.

Chapter 8:  Tidings

The morning is cold.  In the alleyways, beggars huddle together, coughing and shivering.  I stride toward my warehouse with renewed determination.  As we pass near the Outpost gates, I consider the possibility of getting out to see this pond.  But I don’t have time right now, and even if I did, chances are slim to none that the guards would let me past the gates.

A Sentry walking our way makes me forget the pond.  Forget everything.  Jacob and Taylor stop in their tracks.  A few heartbeats later, they're busting up laughing.

It's wearing a hat.  A weird red floppy triangle with a white ball dangling at the end.  I watch it with an open mouth.  Finally, I manage to say, "What the hell?"

Jacob and Taylor just shrug and grin at each other.  I'm still gawking.  I rub my eyes and groan.  Matt is a madman.

As we walk, I think about the stack of books on the table next to Matt's chair.  They're the entirety of what the Outpost has to offer on "Christmas".  There are novels and picture books.  Some are just a few loose pages.  Matt's been pouring over them every spare moment.  So, Sentries with hats.  What could possibly be next?

Like Jacob and Taylor, I shrug it off, striding purposefully toward my goal.  As people get out of my way, they offer me excessively cheery and clearly fake "Merry Christmases".  I glare back and continue walking.

The warehouse comes with a handful of scrawny rag-robed beings shivering in the alleyway outside.  I have a better way for them to spend their time.

"You," I say, nodding at the nearest body as I throw open the warehouse door onto a cold, dark room, "let's clear this place out."  As expected, there’s plenty of dirt and general filth inside.  I make a quick round of the place, then stick my head back into the alley.  "And you," I address my next unlikely helper, "find some things that can be used for a fire."  I send two others to go recruit more help.  Then I turn to Jacob and Taylor.  "I'm going to need someone who can knock a hole in this roof."  It’s true, I could call in a favor with Donegan’s men, or Sawyer’s men as I should think of them now, but I think I’ll save that for something special.

Jacob and Taylor raise their eyebrows at me.  Nevertheless, they come up with someone to knock a hole in the roof.  We’re clearing away debris that used to be ceiling when Jordan Black bursts into the warehouse, wide-eyed and breathless.  His gaze falls on me, and I immediately know something is wrong.

“Eden,” he pants, his face pale as snow, “it’s your friend.  Apollon.”

I run for the door, my bodyguards close behind me.  Jordan is wiped out—he’s clearly been running around trying to find me, and now he drags as we head down the street.  “Where?” I demand, not willing to wait for him.

He points ahead.  “By the Rustler,” he manages between ragged breaths.

I take off at full speed, not worrying about the people I shoulder through to get there.  A million scenarios run through my mind, and all of them are bad.  Jordan was clearly upset.  I saw fear in his eyes.  I’m guessing he’s afraid that coming to find me would put him on Matt’s bad side.  Does that mean that Matt has Apollon after all?  And if he’s bringing him out now, why?

I fly around the corner by Canson’s store onto the main street, where I skid to a halt.  The Sentry with the red hat stands before the Rustler.  Apollon is gripped in its huge metal hand.

The sight is too much, immediately driving cold fear into my spine.  Those crushing robotic fingers may as well be wrapped around my own ribcage.  I can’t breathe, feel like I’m going to be sick.  But I make myself move toward the Rustler where Matt is just stepping outside, still in conversation with the hawk-nosed woman I saw him meet with not long after the executions.  He glances at the Sentry as if it is an annoyance, wraps up whatever business he is doing, and watches the woman leave.  Only then does he notice my approach.

I somehow manage to make it all the way to him.  I want to rush to Apollon, but I know who holds the power here—the only person who can release my friend.  In a daze, I stare at Matt’s face.  I can’t seem to make myself speak.  I stop beside him and turn to the Sentry.  To Apollon, who is pale, trembling, completely frozen in the grasp of the machine.  His blue eyes are wide with fear and shock.  I can’t tell if he’s hurt.  Though he’s huge and muscular as far as humans go, he’s nothing more than a kitten in the hands of this metal giant.  His feet dangle above the ground, just like… just like…

Everything fades as black spots swarm over my vision.  As an invisible hand pulls all the air from my lungs until there is none left to breathe.  Matt’s arm around my back holds me up when my legs threaten to crumple.  I’m sagging against him, clutching his shirt as I try to remain standing.  It takes a moment, but slowly my body and vision recover.  A killer headache lingers in the bridge of my nose.

“Well?” It’s Matt’s voice beside me, and he’s talking to two men standing to the side of the Sentry.  I squint to focus on them.  They’re from the gate.

One of them shrugs, looking uneasy.  “It brought him from outside,” he says.  “I don’t know where it found him.  It was on patrol.”

My eyes fly to Apollon to confirm this, but he’s still frozen with fear.  My inaction breaks.  I can’t do this.  I push away from Matt and move toward the Sentry.  “Let go!” I’m shrieking, my fists pounding into unrelenting metal.  “Let go!  Let go!  Let go!!!”

Its mirrored face turns down to regard me, but it makes no other move.

“Let go!” I demand and kick it one more time, but I know it won’t.  Tears are pouring down my cheeks as I reach up to Apollon, trying to touch his face but only able to reach his arms.  “Apollon,” I whisper.  “Apollon.  Are you alright?”

He doesn’t answer but his eyes find mine.  We are both shaking, scrambling to hold onto our sanity in the presence of this hellish creature that brings back so many nightmares.  Apollon’s fingers are clenched into fists pressing down on the metal hand that wraps his waist.  I wriggle my fingers underneath his, twining our grasps together.  “It’s OK,” I whisper.  “Don’t be afraid.”  I manage to say this even though I’m so clearly and incredibly terrified.  I turn my tear-streaked face to Matt.

Matt’s jaw is clenched tight, his own fingers curled into fists.  His eyes are fixed on our intertwined hands.  He doesn’t look at my face; just at Apollon.  “I have a lot of questions for you,” he says.  His voice is deadly cold.

“Matt,” I plead.

He only glances at me, his gaze as hard and unmovable as his voice.  Then he looks back at Apollon, but first, for just an instant, his eyes flick again to our hands.  Jealousy.

I yank my hand out of Apollon’s and turn all the way to Matt.  I stand there, between him and the Sentry that clutches my friend.  I say nothing, but Matt’s eyes pull away from Apollon and find me.  I can see his understanding.  His brow furrows as he considers.

I wait out the long agony of his indecision.  His gaze hardens, flicking again to Apollon.  Then he looks at me and sighs.  He makes a dismissive gesture with his fingers, and, as if it reads his movement as well as his voice, the Sentry lowers Apollon to the ground.

My arms are around my friend in a flash, half-holding him up as he stumbles.  “Are you hurt?” I’m asking.  “Did it hurt you?”

He manages to shake his head, though he’s still trembling, still in shock.  “I’m OK,” he chokes out, and he looks past me.  I suddenly realize what—who he’s looking at.

I let go of him, though cautiously, making sure he’s stable on his own.  Not that I could really hold all of him up without help.  I turn to Matt.  A few quick strides closes the distance between us.  I throw my arms around him.  His body, at first stiff with rage, relaxes against me.  I take his face in my hands and gaze into his eyes.  “Thank you, Matt,” I whisper.

Whatever displeasure was left in his expression melts as he gazes back at me.  His face clouds with tenderness.  He leans toward me.

And I can’t.  I can’t do this.  I turn my face away, down toward the ground.  “I have to go,” I stammer, needing to retreat.  But Apollon.  Does he need help?  I look toward him again.  Only he’s not there.  My eyes dart around as I search for him, and there… just his back, retreating away down the street.

Home.  He’s going home.  …And how I long to go with him.

I glance again at Matt, who looks like a child who has lost his favorite toy.  “I have to go,” I say again.  But I can’t risk that he’ll think I’m going after Apollon.  “We were in the middle of something,” I stutter uselessly as I back away.  A half-explanation at best.  I turn on my heel and head for the warehouse.  Jacob and Taylor, always waiting for me, follow along.

My insides are all mixed up, and I still want to be sick, but with great effort I remain calm on the outside.  I try not to think about all the questions, though the task is almost impossible.  There’s plenty of work to do on my project.  I immerse myself in it, finding it to be soothing and reassuring.  By the afternoon, my plans are well under way and I’m more capable of thinking about them for real.  I head home, fixating myself on the knowledge that the project will continue, and tomorrow we'll be on to the next phase.  Even if I’m stuck here, even if I can’t be with my family, there can be something that’s important—something that holds meaning.  And in the end, I’m thankful.  My friend is alive.  What else could I ask for?

When I walk into the parlor, Matt is reading in his chair.  It instantly makes me think of Apollon, and the pain of missing him comes swarming back, intermingled with a current of relief.  I look at Valentine while I surreptitiously blink away tears.  The pig gazes up at me and snorts.

Matt grins, sets his book aside, and climbs to his feet.  He gestures me into the dining room.  Clearly, we are not talking about what happened this afternoon.

This time, I recognize the sound before I see the creatures that make it.

I stop in the doorway.  "Pigeons?"

Next to the cage, he turns and smiles at me.  "It was the best I could do."

"Really."

He offers a shrug.  He's still smiling.

"What am I supposed to do with them?" I ask, the same as yesterday.

"Whatever you want."  He unconsciously glances toward the back door.

I cross my arms and consider the two pigeons at length.  One of them has creepy red eyes.  Finally, I sigh.  "Alright," I say.  "Let's get Alayna to make them for dinner."

He nods approvingly.  "Merry Christmas."

***

Late at night, Miranda brings me news of our friends  She says she only had a moment to check in, but Apollon is home now, and both he and Neveah are doing fine.  He’s not hurt, and he’s joking as usual.  Both of our friends seem to be back to normal.  It’s like they were never gone.

Longing slithers over me, a snake constricting around my heart.  I fight back the emotion and listen quietly to Miranda’s report, nodding.  I can’t say anything because if I do it will come out with buckets of tears.

My lack of response leaves our conversation short.  Miranda offers a little smile and slips away out the door.  I dowse the aether lamp, collapse onto my pillow, and let myself cry out the loneliness.

***

The next evening, it's chickens.

"Chickens?"  Matt and I stand on the back porch and look at the cage tucked against the wall.  Three fat chickens.  Too much to bring inside.

"Hens, really," Matt corrects, viewing them.  He adds hopefully, "They'll lay eggs for you."

I eye him, trying to figure out what this is all about.  Is it one of his attempts to get me to eat more?  I suspect not.  But what, then?  Is he trying to woo me with chickens?  Really?

"We should probably keep them in the coop with the others," he says sensibly.

"Yes."

"They're all yours, though.”

I nod.  "OK."

He smiles warmly down at me.  "Merry Christmas."

I mumble something unintelligible, dragging my feet back inside.

As Alayna serves us dinner—venison steak with mashed potatoes—I turn this weirdness over in my mind.  The best explanation I can come up with is that Matt is trying to make me feel secure.  He's giving me a small stock of animals I can eat from if things go bad.  Or maybe he's lost it.

"So what did you do today?" he asks between bites of steak.

"Turned a warehouse into a place for sick and hurt people to get help."

He looks up from sawing his meat.  "Really."

"Yep."

He considers for a moment.  "That's a good idea," he finally says.  "You could make a lot of money."

I chew on a bite of steak for a while.  I decide not to tell him that everything will be free.

"Is there anything you need help with?" he asks, finally tired of waiting for a reply.

"I've got it covered."  I don't want his help, and certainly not his permission.

"Of course."  Wisely, he drops it.

After dinner, in the parlor, we sit in silence.  He reads his books.  I wriggle restlessly in my half of the chair.  Valentine snorts at me.

"See, Christmas tree," Matt says at some point, holding up a loose, faded page from a picture book.  It is literally crumbling in his hands.

I squint at it.  There are some funny-looking kids and what I think is a dog laughing at another kid with a tiny tree.

Matt points at the one kid.  "This guy got a crappy tree," he says.  "He didn't know what Christmas was about.  Bigger is better."

"Guess you're in luck, then."

He flashes me a sudden grin and winks.  "So are you."

I turn my face away as I color red.  "Did you figure out what to put on it, yet?" I ask, trying to forge ahead, and immediately regret not specifying that I'm talking about the tree.

Thankfully, Matt does not take the opening.  He quickly stows away his smirk and focuses on his reading. "Yeah," he says absently.  "You'll see."

I'm not really sure I want to.  I wait a moment and excuse myself.

"'Night," he calls after me as I climb the stairs.

Shutting the door to my room brings a small sense of relief.  I'm still bothered that I can't lock it, but so far Matt has never tried to come in.  I can only hope that continues.

When I sit down on my bed, I feel something soft beneath me.  My fingers brush fur.  I frown, and reach for the aether lamp.  A bluish glow fills the room.

I run my hands over the coat.  The inside is lined with silky, white fur.  The outer is tan suede.  I don't know how many layers are between, but it's the thickest, softest coat I've ever laid my hands on.  A small piece of paper flutters to the floor.  I bend over and retrieve it.

Merry Christmas, it says.  I sigh and close my eyes.

***

Halfway through the night, I hear Miranda's footsteps running up the stairs.  I'm already awake, and I know it's her when she knocks.  Matt is already in his room across the hall.  With company.

"Come in," I say, before she’s even finished knocking.  I sit up and fumble for the lamp.

She scoots the chair over backward, straddles it, and says breathlessly, "I was just with the guys."

How easily she says it, like it's nothing.  Like I wouldn't give my right arm for five minutes.  I swallow my bitterness and say in my most disinterested voice, "Oh?"

She nods and takes a second to catch her breath.  "Yeah," she says.  She opens her mouth to go on, then suddenly frowns and cocks her head.  She's listening.  "...Is that...?"

"Yep."

"Leeta or Kloe?"

"I don't know."  I shrug.  "Maybe both of them."

Her frown deepens in disapproval.  "This is how he courts you?" she asks, throwing out one hand toward the door.

"I don't really care."  Though I probably cared a while ago, when I had my pillow over my head.

"Well, I do," she protests.  "I'm going to have a talk with him tomorrow."

"Just leave it," I say, my voice dangerously close to turning into a growl.  I take a deep breath.  Miranda means well.  She does.  When I continue, I manage to maintain a level tone.  "He hasn't come into my room in the middle of the night and ravaged me, so I say it's all good."  I give her a look.  Somehow, I hold all the emotion inside.

Her eyes flicker nervously, then fall on the floor.  She's quiet.  When she looks back up, she changes the subject abruptly.  "So, Apollon was a little weird."  She eyes me.

"Weird?"  I hold back the worry that immediately tries to spring forth, reminding myself that Apollon is often a little weird.  "How?"

"He walked me home," she says.  "I think he wanted to talk, away from the others."

I readjust my legs under the blanket, all the questions running through my mind again.  I suppress the sudden, panicked thought that it’s about Elaina Sumter’s death—a death that I am responsible for.  Now that Apollon’s back, now that he’s been with the others a while, surely he knows what happened.  Is there any way our friendship will survive all the things that have come against it?  Or does he hate me already?  I take a deep breath.  "About what?"

"Well..." She glances at the door, then scoots a little closer.  My heart thumps, holding out against the fear of words I am sure I’m going to hear.  Miranda’s voice is low.  Not that Matt is listening to us.  "He said....  He said to tell you that—OK, this is weird—that 'he's still the god of many things'."  She pauses and studies me, her eyebrows diving downward in the middle.  "I assume it means something to you?"

I stare at her with my mouth open, giving my mind a chance to find logical thought through the fog of brain chemicals.  Not Elaina.  Not yet.…The god of many things.  It's Apollon's favorite joke.  One that Miranda is familiar with, too.  I scan quickly through the memories.  Apollon, god of the sun.  Destroyer.  God of poetry.  God of music.  God of the plague.  Oh.  I say it out loud.  Softly.  "Oh."

Miranda's eyebrows go up.  "Oh?"

"Oh," I say again.  My stomach rolls sideways.  I wrap my arms around it.  I shake my head.  "Just tell him," I start, but my voice has gone dry.  I have to clear my throat and start again.  "Just tell him I'm OK.  Tell him I still have some ideas."

She tilts her head curiously.  "Do you?"

I manage a nod, and though her eyes are demanding to be told what my ideas are, I avoid admitting that I have none.  "Later," I say.  "I need some sleep.  Just tell Apollon.  Please."

***

My warehouse is coming along nicely.  Toward the afternoon, I head to the Rustler, hoping for a break and some quiet time.  Instead, I hold court.  Not intentionally.

People are quickly gaining confidence in my authority.  I should have known there would be no peace.  Ever since the thing with Sawyer and Black, I seem to be in high demand.  Several people are lined up to buy me drinks.  There are a handful of requests for favors or permissions, but mostly, it's bickering.  The new order of the Outpost has people testing their boundaries, encroaching on their neighbors, and trying to grab as much as they can while they can.  I do my best to set them straight.  I even throw in a few well-placed threats, hinting that Matt won't like some of the things I have to tell him.  Not that I'm going to.  But they don't know that.  I grow tired of it all quickly.  I dismiss the small crowd that has grown around me, and head outside.  Jacob and Taylor trail after me.

I trudge down the street, ignoring everyone.  I wanted to be alone, but now that I am, at least sort of, the solitude is beyond lonely.  Despair threatens to creep in once again.  I head in the direction of my warehouse, but halfway across the marketplace, I stop in my tracks and stare.

Neveah is accepting a coin from a boy holding a small pouch.  As she pockets it, she looks past him and sees me.  I don't know what to expect—anger, disappointment?  I’m still not sure how she feels about what I did when Grey attacked.  Ultimately, we left her behind.  Left her to the battle and then, unknowingly, to Matt.  Was she hurt?  Frightened?  Does she blame me for not helping her sooner?  Does she even know I helped at all?

As she sees me, her lips turn upward in the gentlest of smiles, tentative, understanding of my hesitation, accepting.  Perhaps it's because she doesn't ever speak that she’s able to say so much without a single word.

I run to her and throw my arms around her.  We stand there in the marketplace, holding on to each other.  My eyes are squeezed shut.  My heart is full.  Relief overflows.  For the longest time, there is no need to say anything.

Eventually, we draw apart.  I don't mention the past.  I know I've been forgiven for whatever I may have done.  Instead, I tell her about the future.  But first, I fix Jacob and Taylor with a glare, and point to the place I want them to wait, within sight, but out of hearing distance.  Looking uncomfortable, they follow my silent directions.  Neveah’s blanket is spread with packets of herbs displayed for sale.  We sit together at the far end, the familiar scent of the herb packets—a scent I associate entirely with Neveah—bringing a rush of comfort and familiarity.  Leaning close, I whisper to her, telling her everything.  My failed plans for all of us to leave.  My fears that the Sentries will keep coming.  How difficult it has been to be away from my family—how I’ve worried for her and Apollon.  All my grief.  She listens, and nods, and pats my knee.

"There's something I would like you to do," I say, after we’ve sat together for a moment in silence.  I never realized, but now it is clear to me that Neveah is such an important part of my plans.

Her eyebrows go up.

"I'm making a place for people to get help.  If they're sick or hurt.  I want you to run it."

She frowns and cocks her head, eyeing me.

So I ramble at length about my efforts to convert the warehouse.  "You could teach people," I tell her.  "You could show them how to look after each other."

Her eyes fall thoughtfully on the little bundles spread over her blanket, considering.  There is a light in them that makes me feel warm inside.  I really think we can do this.

“And I can pay you,” I blurt, suddenly remembering.  “To make up for your income here.  I’ll pay you better.  I promise.”

Her eyes flick to me inquisitively, and somehow, the curiosity in them makes me blush.

“I, um, rigged this deal with what’s left of Donegan’s guys,” I mumble, wanting to establish that the money is not coming from Matt, though there are some links I would prefer to sever.  “It’s enough for a while.  We’ll need to buy things, too.  But I have an idea for the long run.  I just haven’t enacted it, yet.”

She nods slowly, but she’s still giving me that analyzing look.

“I need to get going,” I say and abruptly lean in to give her a hug.  I don’t really have anywhere to go, but I’m feeling the need to retreat from her questioning eyes.  I scramble to my feet and head off, my bodyguards trailing behind me.  Unfortunately, the questions come along with me.  What am I doing?  This sickhouse—it’s an acceptance of my sentence.  I’m stuck here.  I’m making the most of it.  I’m even making the most of my association with Matt.  So where does that lead?  And am I willing to go there?  The questions set my heart racing, and I can’t quite decipher what emotion is behind the rush.

I feel a sudden and incredible need to sit and think things through.  I want to go home and hide, but part of me is still resistant to the idea that Matt's house could be a place of retreat.  Instead, I head for the Rustler, determined to tell everybody to piss off and leave me alone while I sit and nurse a drink.

I’m still pushing through the door when I register Matt's voice inside.

"Well then," he drawls in a tone of jovial authority, "someone bring me Coyote Dan."

His eyes fall on me as I step inside, and there’s a little flare of surprise.  One hand is poised in the air where he was swishing it.  He sees his victory before I can disguise it.  He grins at me.

Coyote Dan.  Matt's adopted my nickname for him.  Something so simple.

I look down, but I can't stop it.  I'm smiling.  I put one hand over my mouth to hide it.  But my feet decide to move toward him, crossing the room with a mind of their own.  I lean up against the bar next to him and we regard each other.  He flicks one finger toward Arthur and the best whiskey in the Outpost materializes in front of us.  We take up our shot glasses and look at each other during a long pause.

"Merry Christmas," I finally say, begrudgingly though it is.

"Merry Christmas," Matt beams in return.

We clink our glasses together and drink up.  Arthur pours another round.  We take this one more slowly, eyeing each other and not talking, much like the first time we ever shared a drink.  I study Matt’s face and consider that I was wrong about Apollon.  That Matt wasn’t lying to me.  He really didn’t know.  And Neveah didn’t seem hurt or traumatized at all.

Soon, Coyote Dan comes in and, after a brief greeting, Matt pulls him away to a table where they sit and quietly talk business.  My eyes wander over them from a distance, wondering what Matt has Dan up to now.  Last I knew, he was working with Lloyd on forging weapons for the wall.  That was before Grey attacked the Outpost and crumbled the wall to pieces.  Are they remaking the weapons for the reconstructed wall?  Or is it something else?  Whatever it is, Coyote Dan, who once questioned Matt's side, now seems eager to please.  He must have learned his lesson the first time.  He still needs the stick to walk.

As if he senses my eyes on him, and my dark thoughts, Dan glances up at me.  His smile is a straight stretch of mouth.  His weirdly blue eyes seem to be summing me up.  Still the same old Coyote Dan.

I nod at him, once.  Matt glances at me with a half-smile.

Not very much later, Matt and I walk home together.  I'm not really surprised when he draws me straight through the house to the back porch.

"Again?"

He just smiles, pulling me by the elbow.

The cage, this time, is filled with four incredibly noisy birds.  They make a sound that chills my spine.  The call of a ghost.  Something otherworldly.

"I thought ducks quacked," I finally manage, covering my ears with my palms.

"I'm pretty sure ducks have round beaks," Matt says, studying the birds in the cage.

I regard the duck-like, black-and-white speckled things.  It's true.  Their beaks are pointy.  "What are they, then?"

He shrugs.  "Noisy."

"Incredibly.  Do they lay eggs?"

He smiles.  "Maybe."

I wave him off, going inside.  "You have no idea," I say as he follows me.  "They could lay rocks for all you know."

He just laughs.  "Think of them as rare and exotic," he suggests.

I roll my eyes.

By halfway through dinner, both of us are flinching at every phantomlike cry that pierces straight through the wall and into the dining room.  We look at each other across the table and reach a silent understanding.  The birds have to go or no one will sleep.  Likely, we'll both go insane long before bedtime.  Without speaking, Matt stands up and leaves the room.  I hear the front door open, and the murmur of his voice.  He returns just as quietly, and takes his seat.  In a moment, there is the clunk of metal footsteps out back.  I freeze, listening.  The birds get noisier.  Metal clangs.  And then, slowly, the Sentry’s footsteps move away.  With them, the calls of the birds fade into the distance.  As they melt into merciful silence, I sigh.

"Merry Christmas," Matt says softly.

We look at each other and start laughing.

Chapter 9:  Fifth

By late afternoon, when I finally make it to the Rustler, the Outpost is buzzing about Matt's declaration.  Apparently I missed the announcement.  Four things.  One: Current territories will remain in effect.  No trying to expand.  That should put a stop to some of the bickering, and I didn't even have to mention it to Matt.  He's probably been dealing with it as well.  Two: Only approved hunting parties will be allowed outside the wall until further notice.  I already knew this, but it's still annoying.  I guess I can’t expect anything different, given that a couple of days ago everyone wanted to escape.  Three: In lieu of erasure, all crimes are punishable by death.  Again, not surprising, but not exactly encouraging either.  Four: The Ten Laws have been reduced to Five Laws.  Politics, religion, slavery, marks, and attempts to discover erased information have all been legalized.  There is no mention of the Founding Principle that the voice spoke of.  Matt’s not even bothered to acknowledge it.

I sit and ponder for a while, shooing people away at first, and when that doesn't work, ignoring them.  About ten minutes later, I drum up the courage to make my own declaration.  I stand up, clear my throat, and hope to hell that people take me seriously.  My face is blank.  Everyone has fallen quiet.  I say with calm authority, "One more thing.  Anyone who makes more than three silvers a month will pay five percent of their income to fund the sickhouse I'm building.  Then, the sickhouse will be open to everyone in the Outpost who needs it, regardless of anything else."

Utter silence.

I sit down.

The questions and comments explode in a blur of voices talking over each other.

Everyone?  Absolutely everyone?

How are the beggars going to pay for services?

I have a slave to tend to me when I'm sick.  Why should I have to pay if I'm not going to use it?

If you let people with contagious diseases go there, it won't be safe for the rest of us.

Five percent?  Isn't that a bit high?

Why doesn't everyone have to pay if everyone is going to use it?

Shouldn't it be a set amount?  A few coppers a month, I could do that....

Everyone is talking.  No one is listening.  I make no attempt to answer.  I give them a few moments to run down, then I hold up one hand.  I lean back casually in my chair like I don't have a care in the world.  I wait for complete silence.

"This is not the same Outpost it has always been."  I wave one finger back and forth between them.  "From now on, you're going to start looking after each other, instead of tearing each other to pieces.  That's how we're going to be strong enough to stand against all the things that are going to come against us.  Because I can tell you, there are going to be a lot of them."  I raise my eyebrows in authority and give them a moment to mull that over.  Uncertain glances fly around between them, but not a word.  They're all considering an enemy from outside, whether it be someone like Grey, or an army of Sentries.  They're considering that we might need each other after all.  Before they can start up again, I dismiss them with a wave.  Most of them go away.  Most.

Canson and Julian nervously pull up chairs at my table and lean in.

"Do you really think there's going to be more trouble from outside?" Julian asks quietly.

I shrug.  Better not to focus on the Sentries.  "Think about it.  We're building something better here.  Right now, the only people who know are scared of us.  We're a wild card.  But eventually people are going to see how good we've got it.  Then they're either going to want to be part of it, or they're going to want to take it away from us.  We have to start thinking about that now, while we have time."

"There will always be people like Grey out there," Canson mutters.

I nod.  Realistically, we should be preparing for more Sentries.  We clearly don’t know enough about them.  Part of me expects them to show up in numbers at any moment.  Maybe Matt thinks he's prepared.  Maybe he has his own Sentries, and men ready to run out and yank crystals as necessary.  That could still be done with Sentries that haven’t been reprogrammed.  But I'm not so sure it will be that simple.  My instincts are telling me they are more complicated than we can know.  Nevertheless, I don't bring it up.  Right now, that would weaken Matt's authority, and by proxy, my authority.  I only want to give them something nameless and distant to unite against.  A reason to actually make things better.

Julian is silently having a conversation with himself.  He's talking it over in his head, staring at the table and nodding.  Finally, he looks at me.  "Imagine if no one in the Outpost was sick," he says.  "No diseases to catch.  Everyone able to work.  We'd be almost twice as strong."

I smile and pat him on the shoulder as I leave.  Strolling down the streets with Jacob and Taylor behind me, I can’t help but feel cautiously hopeful.  Things around me are changing.  There’s a different feel in the air.  My heart does a few little jumps as I wonder if things might actually continue to get better.  And the Sentries… I could be worrying over nothing.  If more come, we’ll handle them the same way as before.

For the first time, I allow myself to ponder and consider Matt’s words from our earlier conversation.  His assurances.  His hopes.  Even his explanations.  Before I know it, I’m wondering if he was right.  If his actions, however harsh, could be justified by the end result.  Part of me resists even considering it, but part of me is softening.  A little chill runs through my whole body as my eyes are suddenly opened to how much I’ve changed.

When I see Matt now, I see Matt.  It’s becoming harder and harder to imagine him with the gun in his hand.  I realize with a fair dose of dismay that it’s too late.  I’ve started to question.  I see reasons.  I see holes.  That’s how we are—people of reasons and holes.  Anything we want, we can justify.  We can poke holes in anything inconvenient by asking the right questions.  And simultaneously we can patch holes in anything attractive by concocting the right explanations.  It comes down to the lies we prefer to believe.  The lies that bring us the most comfort.  The lies that fulfill our desires and dispatch our fears.  We are able to see truth in anything, and therefore we can find truth in nothing.

So the question is… what do I want?  And what am I willing to believe in order to get it?  And the answer is… I have no idea.

***

Deciding to beat Matt to the punch-line tonight, I walk around back before going inside.  Surprisingly, there's nothing on the porch.  Have the noisy birds shown him his folly?  Pondering the possibility, ever-so-slightly disappointed, I go in through the back door.

Matt hears me and appears in the doorway between the dining room and the parlor.  Smiling.  Oh no.

"I have something for you."

I narrow my eyes at him as he beckons me to follow him into the parlor.  "Let me guess.  More birds.  Are they smaller this time?"  I don't hear anything that would confirm my suspicion as I step into the room.  Just the crackle of the fire.  I glance around, looking for something.

"No birds," Matt says, taking something from the table beside his chair.  At first, I think it's a book.  But it's a small red box, as thin as a book.  He smiles at me.  "Not this time, at least."

While I eye him, he nudges the ottoman.  I take a seat and he crouches on his toes in front of me, offering me the box.  I turn it in my hands, wondering what could be inside.  He watches me with this anticipatory smile that makes me want to dig in to the box and shove it back at him at the same time.  Finally, I gather the courage to open it.  I'm not prepared for its contents.  My fingers fumble over the box and I almost drop it.

Gleaming up at me is gold.  A lot of gold.  That's all I make out at first.  I utter a few choice cuss words under my breath, pushing the box toward Matt, but he pushes it right back.  "No," I say.  "Nah ah.  That's gold."  I'm shaking my head at him.  Cutting into his business with my own bargaining skills is one thing, but an outright gift of gold from Matt is another thing entirely.

My protest only seems to amuse him.  He sets the box firmly in my lap, gives me the eyebrows of authority, and says, "It's a Christmas present.  You're not allowed to give them back."

I stare at him with a blank face and an open mouth.  "Matt," I finally say, shaking my head, "this is insane.  Why on earth would you— I mean, it's too much.  It's really too much."

"Trust me, there's plenty more where that came from," he says easily, as if it really is nothing.  "Besides, it's required by the song."

"The song?" I mumble helplessly.

He nods.  "Yep.  On the fifth day of Christmas, you get five golden rings.  That's just how it is."  He reaches into the box and slides one of the pieces from where it is tucked into the velvet cushion.  So it is a ring.  Now, shellshock beginning to fade, I actually look at the contents of the box.

They’re probably the prettiest things I've ever seen.  Bright as the sun, finely worked, each one is designed with the form of a different animal.  Ultimately, it's the designs that get me.  Most I recognize, or at least I think I do.  One is completely foreign.  "Animals," I say as I dare to touch one.  "Is that part of the song, too?"

Matt rises from his crouch to sit on the edge of my chair.  Valentine snorts at him.  He ignores her.  "Nah," he says.  "They're all the things I love about you."

My eyes move from the rings and fly to his face.

“I know,” he admits, his cheeks flushing as if he were a boy, not a semi-evil overlord.  “It’s a little cheesy.  I just… I wanted it to mean something.”

I’m staring at him, my mouth open.  Then I’m shaking my head slowly.  “Not that cheesy,” I manage.  My voice catches.  I swallow, feeling my own cheeks grow hot.

His eyes are thoughtful, his smile warm.  He leans forward a little, looking at the rings.  "The bear is for your strength.  The wolf is courage.  The crow is how smart you are."  He shrugs.  "They're pretty damned smart, you know."

I look at the rings and swallow again.  "Then what's the cat?" I ask in a somewhat normal voice.  My heart is thumping away at an insane rate that makes me a little breathless.  "Cats are smart, too, aren't they?"

"Not just any cat.  A giant cat.  I think it's a lion."

He says it as though he's remembering.  Like he's actually seen one.  Before I can ask, he continues.

"They're beautiful," he says, looking from the rings to my face.  "The same kind of beautiful that you are."

My whole face is warm now, and my heart picks up even more, making me feel light-headed.  My eyes drop to the rings.  "What's this thing?"  I nudge the last one.  "Some kind of stretched-out rat?"

He laughs and laughs at my assessment.  Finally, fighting down his smile, he says, "It took me a while to figure it out, too.  They live in the water.  I'd never heard of any such thing.  But they were damned cute.  They're called otters, I think."

"Otters," I say, squinting at him.  "For my cuteness?"

He starts laughing again.  "Nope," he says.  "For your playfulness.  For humor."

I consider him for a moment.  I can't say I think of myself as playful.  But if I analyze the course of my relationship with Matt, humor has been its redeeming factor.  And out of all the things I like about him—all the things that I probably shouldn't— humor is definitely at the forefront.  My eyes scan over the rings for a moment, taking in their beauty.  I sigh.  "This is really nice."  And I mean it.  "But... do you have somewhere I can lock them away to keep them safe?"

He makes a noise.  "You're supposed to wear them."

"Wear them?" My voice is incredulous.  "Someone will chop off my hand!"  The words are out before I can stop them, but Matt misses any unintentional reference to the Sentries.

His eyelids come down until his eyes are just slits in a very serious face.  "Not in my Outpost."

"Well, I'm glad that your confidence extends past the wellbeing of my appendages."

He leans in and takes hold of the appendage in question.  "Everyone in this Outpost knows that harming a hair on your head will result in a seriously painful and slow demise.  No one would dare touch you, even if I plated you in gold and attached a tail of diamonds to your behind."

My lips quirk, then go still.  "Oh."  I match his sober tone.  "So you're saying I don't really need those bodyguards after all."

A look of disbelief crosses his face and vanishes in a flash.  He stands.  "You're a pain in the ass," he says.  "I should have given you six gold rings, one more for pain-in-the-assishness."

"So you love that about me, too, huh?"

He laughs and ruffles my hair.  "Merry Christmas," he says, and retreats out of the room.

"What kind of animal would that be, anyway?" I call after him.

His footsteps are moving up the stairs.  I think I've heard the last of him.  Then his voice floats down the stairway.  "A pig.  Clearly."  His door thuds closed behind him.

I raise my eyebrows at Valentine.  She snorts at me indignantly.  I make myself comfortable in Matt's chair, and try on my rings.

***

I'm up early, wanting to get things moving with my sickhouse, so I'm straight out the door.  Matt, having just finished breakfast, is on his way at the same time.  We walk together until we reach the main street, at which point we're going in different directions.  Before we do, he catches my hand up and admires my rings.

"They're even prettier on you," he says, looking into my eyes.

I deflect the rush of feeling with a comment I've been waiting to make since I noticed last night.  "You did give me birds, after all."  I lift my index finger and its crow ring.

He smiles dryly.  "Bird," he corrects.  He takes a few steps backward, allowing my hand to slide slowly from his grasp.   Then he turns and walks away.

I shake myself, and move in the opposite direction.  My stomach clenches, and then my fists.  What the hell am I thinking?  Matt is worming his way into my life, and I can't seem to stop him.  More than that, I don't hate him, no matter how many times I remind myself that I should.  More than more than that, I kinda like him.  I want to scream.  I almost do it.

What stops me is Jonas.  His back, moving away from me.  Striding quickly.  I know his walk, the way his shoulders move.  Even hidden under a different jacket and hat than he's always worn, he is plain to me.  He's like the sun against a field of grey.  Two things; a leap of warmth and hope... and flat-out fear.  I feel all my blood draining into my toes.  I think I might fall down.  Did he just see Matt holding my hand?  Is that what he's walking away from so quickly?

Mortification, grief, and longing compete to claim me.  And guilt.  A good measure of it.  I swallow down bile.  I start to follow him, and then I have to stop and sit down because I think I really might be sick.  I’m so confused.  Tears well up and cloud my vision.  I duck my face to hide them.  That's when I realize, there's no one to hide them from.  At least, not in my immediate surroundings.  No Jacob.  No Taylor.  No one at all following me.  I'm left blinking and looking around, half startled.  Two tears drop from my eyes as I attempt to clear my vision.  Then I'm wiping my face and laughing at Matt, and thinking Holy hell I am really a goner.

In a brief moment of clarity, I acknowledge my wildly swinging emotions.  I'm able to see that Jonas does not, in fact, seem to give a damn about me.  He has advised me through Miranda to stay away.  He wouldn’t even speak to me when I tried to pound the door in.  Apparently he’s forgotten the importance of our shared past.  Forgotten how we once risked erasure to mark ourselves with each other’s names.  And even if he did care in the slightest bit, it's likely that a good deal of my feelings for him are a product of Before.  What’s more, the chances of us ever being able to be together here in the Outpost are slim to none.  This is all entirely convincing.

I'm also able to see that Matt will undoubtedly persist in his efforts, and over time the chances of me resisting him are also slim to none, despite the fact that he is clearly no good for me.  But I’m sharply aware of the alarms going off in my mind at the thought, however exciting, of being with Matt.  It might be inevitable, but for now the smartest choice is to avoid both of them.  It's the only way to go.  Not that I know how to avoid Matt.

But then, when I think of Jonas—even just remembering that last glimpse of his back—my whole body feels like caving into the huge pit that opens up in my heart.  I remind myself of those clear facts I so recently discovered, and on second glance they don't seem clear at all.  Maybe I'm wrong.  I get up and walk, and make myself think about Matt, instead of Jonas, because I can at least reinforce the idea that my semi-evil overlord is no good for me.  I think of some of the things he's said or done, building up the acid.  I'm about a minute in, and instead of seething, I'm laughing.  My suppressed anger seems to have gotten up and moved on.

This is the point when I realize I'm simply going to go crazy.  Or maybe I already am.

I turn to a new tactic—denial.  I march to the marketplace, refusing to think of anything but my project.  The building is in order, supplies have been purchased and delivered.  Now I need to get things going for real.  But before I find my friend, my eyes find something I didn’t expect at all, crossing in front of me.  A woman—an old woman with gnarled fingers twisted like tree roots.  I haven’t seen her in so long.  I haven’t even thought of her.  Now, she’s in front of me by coincidence and accident.  Her wide eyes register the realization of her incredible misfortune.  Utter fear.

There is nowhere for her to run.  She knows that.  Now that she’s come to my attention, she must face my wrath.  I have the power to crush her, and her face is written with the horror of that knowledge.  She stands frozen, unable to react.

A torrent of feeling rushes through me.  Once, this woman blackmailed me.  Threatened my life, my safety.  She stole my hard-earned coins.  Took food from my mouth when I was starving and injured.  She was the embodiment of evil.  The harbinger of misery and pain.  I should strike her down.  Make her pay for her crimes tenfold.  My mind touches all these thoughts, skims over the possibility of all the horrible things I could do to her.  But as I open my mouth to react, I realize that even my anger toward her has faded a little.  More than that, I’m so sick of all the misery.  I just want this taint of darkness to fade away.

I bite down the automatic need to strike out, clamping my jaw, taking a few deep breaths through my nose.  I level one finger at her, and say in an incredibly calm voice, “No more blackmail.  Earn your own living.  I’ll be watching.”

Trembling, she nods vehement agreement.  Her wrinkled face is awash in disbelief and relief.  “Anything you say,” she stammers.  “No blackmail.  None.”

I narrow my eyes on her face, holding her under my gaze until I am convinced she is sincere.  “Merry Christmas,” I say pointedly, then move past her, dismissing her from my life for good.

I feel lighter as I move onward.  Like I’ve let go of some baggage.  I’m able to turn back to my original purpose with new determination.  I find Neveah.

Grabbing firmly onto our task of building the sickhouse, we pack up her herbs and head to the converted warehouse.  As we walk, I notice there is a lightness in her steps.  Her face looks like it has lost some of the incredible sadness.  This task will be good for her in so many ways.  It is possibly what Neveah has always been intended to do.  Her eagerness and excitement reflect through me, as well, and I find myself newly excited about what we’re trying to do.

Over the past few days, I've had someone build a central fireplace in the main room, and two more in the back rooms.  I’ve purchased cots and bedding, and the beggars I recruited the first day have stayed on to set everything up.  At nights, they’ve been sleeping here, where it is warmer and no one bothers them.  I’ve sent food to reward them for their work, and they are more eager than ever to be helpful.  We've gathered a stock of cloth for bandages and had it washed and cut into strips.  I’ve purchased the goods we need, and added a cabinet along the back wall that is now full of things like scissors, knives, tweezers, and needles.  One guy is working on cutting wood to size for splints, and another is working on canes.

Neveah takes it all in and nods approvingly.  She even smiles a little, but it is her eyes that really glow.

I introduce her to the others and make it clear that she is in charge.  "Whatever she needs or wants," I say, "get it."

"Whatever she says," they agree as I leave.  I don't make it all the way out the door before a collective and enthusiastic "Merry Christmas" hits me in the back.

"Merry Christmas," I grumble back at them, and pick up my pace in the street.  The reminder of Matt sends me into a dark mood.  Christmas.  Really.  But as much as I want to blame the mood on Matt, I know the truth of the matter.  The sickhouse is almost ready.  We have almost everything we need, with Neveah’s herbs and expertise.  But there is one incredibly important component that is missing.  I cannot avoid what I must do now.  I’ve waited too long, already.  So, like it or not, it’s time to suck it up and get on with the unpleasant deed.

I collect a few of Sawyer’s thugs along the way, snapping my fingers and gesturing for them to come along.  They fall into stride behind me without so much as a question.  I ignore them, and as I stalk through the Outpost, I try to make myself think of other things—not what lies ahead of us.  But since I am in such a foul state already, my mind turns to more unpleasantness.  I start second-guessing myself for letting that old hag off so easily.  Maybe I should have dealt with her more harshly—kept her from hurting others.  Was I a coward?  The whole thing comes back to me now—barely scraping by on the streets.  I could have died because of her.  I haven’t thought of this in months, and now it feels so fresh.  I toss it away, trying not to let it have power over me now.  But my mood is even darker by the time we get where we’re going.

I march up to Isaiah Bones' shack with my teeth clenched, a handful of brawny men at my back.  I shove the door open.  The mortified look on the face of the woman inside and Bones’ obvious annoyance at the interruption don't help matters either.

"You," I say, jabbing one finger toward him, "pack all this up."  I wave my hand to encompass the many vials lining the shelves of his shop, as well as the array of equipment he uses to make his potions.

Last time I interacted with him, he was piss drunk.  This time, not at all.  He scowls at me.  "Like hell.  This is my place.  I'm not moving."

"I guess I wasn't clear," I say as Sawyer’s men file through the doorway and collect in a pool around me.  "You're not moving.  You're donating.  You're going to take all of this to the new sickhouse, and then you're going to teach my team how to make your medicines, and you're going to continue to help them."

His eyes widen as if I've grown a new head, darting around the collection of intimidating faces around me.  Fear is suddenly smothered by his inherent dogmatic nastiness.  "Like hell," he barks again, spittle flying from his mouth.  “This is my place.  My stuff!  How dare you little whore come in here and try to tell me what to do!”

I narrow my eyes at him, crossing my arms.  My men are already moving across the room, their gazes heavily upon him.  "We can do it the hard way if you want.  You've heard of the chair, haven't you?"

Next to Isaiah, the woman is frozen, eyes as wide as his, her face turning white.  But beneath it is the beginning of delight.

Isaiah Bones stutters, his eyes darting between the men who have now taken him by the arms.  He tries to pull away, but can’t.  They shove him forward.  He struggles, flopping against them, and finally shrieks, “OK!  OK!  Let me go, goddamn it!”  Panting, eyes rolling, he retracts in on himself as I nod and they release him.

Ignoring him, I turn to the woman.  "Take the medicine that you need.  There’s no charge.”

She nods with dawning relief and quickly snatches a vial off the shelf.  Then she shuffles past me out the door with a grateful look and a whispered “Merry Christmas.”

“These guys will make sure that you do everything as I’ve instructed,” I tell Bones.  Then I turn and march out, certain that my bidding will be done.  But I cannot leave that place fast enough.  My skin is crawling.  Again, I feel the urge to throw up, but even so, I have the satisfaction of knowing that I am about to achieve something that will change the Outpost forever.

The day has not progressed that far, but the stress of what I’ve just done has exhausted me.  I’m far more tired than I should be.  Holding my coat tight against the bite of the winter wind, I head toward home.  I squeeze into my chair next to Valentine, soaking up the warmth of the fire.  Absently, I pet her head.  She grunts at me.

"He's right, you know," I murmur as I stroke her pink skin.  "You really are a pain in the ass."

The way she looks at me, I imagine her thinking, yeah, so are you.

Chapter 10:  Spirit

It's late afternoon when Miranda storms in.  As soon as I see her face, I know something's wrong.  I sit up straight as she moves toward me, shaking her head.

"Oh, Eden."  She regards me with pity and an underlying note of caution.

"What?" I ask.  "What happened?  Is it Jonas?  Is he OK?"

Her eyes widen disbelievingly.  She plops down on the ottoman in front of me, frowning.  "Seriously?  You really don't know?"

I frown back.  "Know what?"

She closes her eyes and groans.

"What's going on?" I growl at her, clenching my teeth.

She sighs.  Then she takes a deep breath and says, "Matthew is furious."

Now my eyebrows go down.  "With who?  About what?"

"You, you idiot," she snaps.  Apparently catching herself, she lifts her chin and says calmly, "You have every minor boss in the Outpost barking down his throat about this whole pay-for-the-sickhouse thing.  Except for Ren Sawyer, whose falling-apart operation is suddenly solid as rock, and strangely supportive of your weird little efforts… not to mention the fact that it was his thugs that helped you threaten Isaiah Bones.  Interesting, that.  But seriously.  Reneging on Matt’s deal?  Threatening Bones with the chair?  For god’s sake, what were you thinking?"

I blink at her, mouth open.  "Matt had a deal with Bones," I say quietly.

"Uh, yeah," she says.  "And a lot of other people.  Who all now think that he's not good for his word.  Because of you."

I thwack myself in the face with my palm, my fingers curling and digging into my forehead and temples.  I groan.

Miranda gets up and starts pacing.

I focus on breathing.  Crap.

"Idunno if Jonas and Apollon have heard yet," Miranda says, her pitch a little too high, and her words coming at twice their normal speed.  "Oh my god, they're going to freak out.  OK.  OK.  We have to keep calm."

I remove my hand from my face and squint at her.  Miranda is anything but calm.  Beside me, Valentine wriggles like she might actually get up.

"Yes, we do," I say.  "You're upsetting the pig."

Miranda freezes and looks at me.  Two heartbeats later, she shrieks, "I don't care about the pig!"

Valentine gets her patched-up hind end beneath her and flees the chair.

I raise my eyebrows at Miranda pointedly.

She gesticulates at me with open palms and flexed fingers.  "What is wrong with you?  Don't you see what you've done?"

I sag backward into the chair, groaning again.  I close my eyes.  "It was all going to happen eventually," I mutter.  I feel strangely apathetic.  "Did you really think I was going to survive a whole lifetime with Matt?"  I open my eyes and give her a look.  "Seriously?  Me?"

Now she narrows her eyes at me.  "You have a point."

Our normal interplay of thinly-veiled insults seems to have buoyed her.  I give her more ammo.  "I mean, he already declared me a pain in the ass, and that was when he was... how did you put it...?  Courting me?"  I wriggle my fingers at her.

If the ammo didn't do the trick, the rings did.  She sits on the ottoman and leans in to look at them, her mouth forming a little 'o' to match her eyes.  "Is that gold?" she whispers.

I flash her a grin.  "Maybe I could buy him off with it, huh?"

She narrows her eyes at me in exasperation.  But she's still focused on the rings.  "Did you sleep with him?" she asks flat out.

"No, I didn't!" I proclaim, sitting up from my slouch.

Now she gives me a look and a nod of the head.  "Well, maybe if you did, he would let you live," she suggests.

"I'm not sleeping with him."

She gets to her feet and moves away.  "There are worse things," she says, from across the room.  "You know you want to, anyway."

She has wisely placed some distance between us, and looks ready to bolt if I move.  "Bitch," I say calmly, instead of trying to go after her.

She gives me a smug look that, if nothing else, confirms my assessment of her character.

I look around and find nothing to throw.  So I cross my arms and look away from her, chewing on my lip.  "You're not helping," I finally say.  "So why don't you leave me to it, and if I survive, I'll see you tomorrow."

Now she rolls her eyes, drags herself back to my ottoman, and flounces down on it.  Brave of her.  "I can't just let him kill you," she says.  "What kind of friend would I be?"

I narrow just one eye at her, wondering if she really said that.  "Um," I start, but she waves me off before I can say something appropriately sardonic.

"I'll stay with you," she says quietly.  "He'll have to go through me first."

Sometimes, Miranda is surprising.  But I can't manage gratitude right now without breaking.  So I say, "All ten pounds of you.  That'll take him, what?  Five seconds?"

"Clearly, you've never seen me truly pissed off," she declares haughtily.

"Actually, I have."  I think about it for a minute.  I love pissed-off Miranda.  It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy.  I almost want to hug her.

We look at each other for a moment, and her lips twitch in amusement.  Then she waves me off again and climbs to her feet.  She stands by the fire, hugging herself like she's cold.  Neither of us speak for a long time.

After what seems to be decades tapping my finger nervously on the arm of my chair, I curl my fingers into a fist to stop myself.  "You should go," I sigh.  "Really.  I don't want you to be in trouble along with me."

She starts to shake her head.

"I can talk him down.”  I'm not nearly as confident as I sound.  I remind myself that I've gotten away with a lot of things that, as Matt himself put it, he should have killed me for.  What's a little discrediting him to all his potential enemies compared to that?  My stomach turns over, but I manage to smile at Miranda.  "You'll just piss him off more.  You're good at that."

She rolls her eyes, but she seems strangely convinced.  Probably because her self-preservation instinct is screaming at her not to put herself between Matt and me right now.  And then, she's always easily convinced.  Mental note, don't try to get Miranda to go away if I ever really need her help.  When she looks away, I swallow.  I'm not really sure I don't need her.  But then I'm grinning at her reassuringly as she moves to the door.  I am an idiot.

"I'll just be upstairs," she says uncertainly.  "If you need me."  Then she turns and hauls it up the stairs.  Her door thuds shut behind her.

I lean back in my chair and close my eyes.  I try to remain calm.  I consider Sawyer’s men, and discard any idea of involving them.  There’s no way they’ll back me against Matt, and ultimately, trying to oppose Matt will just make him madder.  The only way is to apologize.  Try to smooth things over.  I rehearse a million different versions of the same speech.  In one version, I actually hand Matt the crow ring, and say, 'Clearly you were wrong about this one.'  Maybe he was.  Idiot.  Idiot.  Idiot.

An eternity passes before he comes home.

I hear the front door, and I'm on my feet, turning toward it, but I freeze before I can go anywhere.  As he appears in the parlor doorway, I realize I'm shaking.  And Miranda was right.  He's pissed.

I open my mouth and nothing comes out.

Something flashes in his eyes.  He strides toward me, pulls me roughly to him, and kisses me.  My legs buckle, but I have no clue if it’s from terror or from the insane rush of desire that comes with the intensity of his kiss.  His mouth is hard on mine, his arms crushing me into his body.  I’m a helpless, molten puddle, bending to meet the curve of his will.  When he finally pulls away just to where the tips of our noses are touching, and gazes down at me, I'm breathless and still shaking as though every nerve is exposed.  Wordlessly, I stare into his eyes, and god they are pretty.

"Quick thinking," he murmurs, sounding as breathless as I feel.

I’m completely lost.  I make a small noise of confusion.

"A kiss like that can fix a lot of things,” he says softly, as if he is pondering the words as he speaks them.  There’s a sudden wicked spark in his eyes.  “Have you been planning it the entire time you were waiting for me?"

Seriously?  Did he just kiss me like that and then accuse me of plotting it?  I blink up at him in disbelief, entirely too aware of the sensation of his arm around my waist, of being pressed against his muscular body.

A slow, mischievous smile slinks across his face.  "I like your train of thought," he adds in a sultry whisper.

My awe breaks suddenly into laughter.  When we part, it's because we're both laughing and I'm doubled over.  My belly hurts.  I'm shedding tears.  Relief and warmth swarm through me, along with a whole lot of other peripheral things whose discomforting presence I attempt to ignore.  Finally, wiping one eye with the back of my hand, I manage to quell the laughter and stand still.  I sigh, and shake my head at him, and start in on my speech.  "Matt," I say, "I'm so sor—"

"Shhh," is all he says, touching one finger to my lips.  "I don't want to talk about it right now."

The touch makes shivers travel from my lips down through every nerve in my body.  As he takes his hand away, I swallow, wondering how I'm going to deflect what comes next.  His eyes on me are filled with so much tenderness.  Part of me doesn't want to disappoint him.  I’m hyper-aware of the curve of his lips, of how warm and tantalizing they felt on mine.

"Right now," he says softly, taking my hand, "I have something to show you."

He pulls me toward the front door, where my coat is hanging on a hook.  He holds it while I stuff my arms in, then pulls it closed by hugging me from behind.  He places a little kiss above my ear, then takes up my hand and draws me outside.

As we step out, I register someone running down the street toward us.  Someone big.  And blonde.  He sees us at the same time that we see him.  He skids to a stop, his feet sliding on small chunks of pavement.  Apollon and I blink at each other from the distance.  His eyes are wide in the moonlight.  Panic-stricken.  They scan my calm face, move to my hand clasped gently in Matt's.  Apollon turns around and starts walking in the other direction.

Matt gives me a sideways look, but doesn't comment.  He tugs me forward.

We walk into the night, and I try to get a handle on my wildly running emotions.  The cold air on my face is refreshing, helping ever-so-slightly with the feeling of drunkenness that came along with Matt's kiss.  I breathe deeply, steadying myself.  The smell of snow is in the air, sweet and fresh.  We've had all this cold, and no snow.  Not for a long while.

"Are you taking me to some more birds?" I ask suspiciously after a moment.

He laughs and shakes his head.  "No," he says.  But then, uncertainly, glancing back the way we came, "We can do the birds later."

My laughter feels light on the chilled air.  "Seriously?" I ask.  "There are more birds?"

He just grins at me as we walk.

"This song of yours is truly strange," I say.  "I mean, birds, birds, birds, birds, golden rings... and then more birds?  Who came up with that?"

"Just you wait," he says.  "It gets better."

I meet his gaze, and then we're both laughing.

"I don't think I want to know," I say.  "What does it all mean?  It has to mean something."

He shrugs, his face still bathed in the light of his smile.  "Christmas is complicated," he says.  "Who understands it?"

We fall silent for a moment.

"Are they noisy?" I ask, glancing back over my shoulder.

He hesitates, then says, "They honk."

"Honk?"

"Yeah, they're noisy."  He flashes me a hopeful smile.  "They lay eggs."

"As opposed to rocks.  So you've witnessed this egg-laying firsthand, then?"

"I wasn't there for the actual event, if that's what you mean.  But when you go away, come back, and an egg magically appears beneath the bird, I think it's safe to assume...."

He trails off because I grab his forearm and stop in my tracks, staring off ahead.  "Matt...." I whisper.

He doesn't answer.  When I look at him, his eyes are wandering over my face, taking in my reaction.

"That's....  That's your tree," I finally manage.

"Our tree," he says.  He reclaims my hand and pulls me forward.

I watch in awe as the sparkling, blue-shimmering top of it waves over the buildings.  We finally come around the corner onto the main street, and the whole thing stands before me.  At least half the Outpost is gathered at its base, more people coming every minute.  There is utter silence.

Matt and I wander toward the giant tree.  The crowd makes room for us.  We stand amongst the other Outposters, staring up at the tower of light and sparkle.  I don't believe in magic, but this thing has cast its spell on all of us.  Arrayed in thousands of shards of broken glass, its branches hung from top to bottom with blue-glowing aether lanterns, it’s like nothing we've ever seen before.  It has no point.  It doesn't do anything.  It's just...

"Beautiful," I whisper, so lightly that I don't expect anyone to hear me.  But Matt's eyes move to me, then back to the tree.  He steps closer to me, sliding his arms around me from behind.  He tucks his chin onto my shoulder.

Snowflakes float down from the sky in front of me.  I hold out my hand and catch one.  The snow makes me think of Oscar.  Of how he would have loved to see this.  Through a film of tears I try to see it for him, then close my eyes and wish the vision to find him.  I urge this Christmas magic to float away on the wind to wherever Oscar is; for it to take my love to him, to let him know, to make him somehow safe and OK.

"Oscar," Matt says, very softly.  How did he know my thoughts?  Did he feel the tremble pass through me?  Did he see my tears?  He moves away from me enough to pet my hair.  The touch is soothing.  Grounding.

I swallow and gaze up at the tree.  Listen to the silence of Matt's Christmas.  For a moment—for the first time ever—I feel peace settling in over us, sleepy and quiet.  I feel the transformation that is happening in us, and the possibility of transformation yet to come.  I can touch the flitting vision of a future that none of us had dared to hope for.  I glance around, and I see it on those faces, too.  This moment is magical.

The silence is broken by the sound of something, far off.  A branch, perhaps, snapping.  There is no wind.  And the sound comes again.  Behind me, I sense Matt turning his face toward the southern wall.  My breath catches as I translate the noise into footsteps.  Heavy, metallic footsteps.  What was first a single noise is suddenly many.  A chorus.  A drumming of steel.  We are all looking toward the wall, now.  Around me, the sharp intake of many breaths forms a collective gasp.  We all recognize it at once— the Sentries have come again.

"Steady," Matt says quietly as I turn to him.  His voice carries clearly through the cold night.  He's looking off toward the wall, his eyes narrowed.  He doesn't move.  Like he's just waiting.

Panic flutters in my brain, a bird shaken from its cage.  I open my mouth to ask about the plan—to demand he do something to protect us.  But I'm frozen.  My words are ice in my throat.  All I can do is swallow.

A flood light, sudden and blinding, shines in from beyond the wall.  It swamps the Outpost in cold white, casting long black shadows between us, turning everything to confusion.  Arms shielding eyes.  People stumbling and clinging to each other.  Fingernails digging in to wrists.  We are about to have a stampede.

Chapter 11:  Violent Property

Matt walks away from me.  Then I notice it.  Others have slipped away.  Matt's men.  We’re going to be OK.  He’s got a plan, and plenty of people to execute it.

I glance wildly around for something to do.  A way to help.

A pulse of light flares, brighter than the one shining onto us.  Half a second later, the ground shakes.  Outside the wall, something explodes.  Black smoke lit by orange flames billows up into the clean night air.  I stumble but keep my feet, straining to see toward the southern wall.  A long, thin beam of red light pierces through the blackness, faded in places by clouds of gray fume.  Where it finds metal, it slices through.  Steel comes apart and clunks to the ground.

Crashes and explosions sound from just beyond the gates.  A flash of silver leaps onto the wall and over, followed by three more.  Sentries are swarming in from outside.  A massive, collective scream goes up from the residents of the Outpost.

Our Sentries sprint through the streets to intercept.  There is a clash of metal.  One Sentry grabs another and throws it into Canson’s store, sending boards splintering into a thousand pieces, fragments flying.  Our Sentry recovers itself, aims its arm at the first one, and fires a projectile weapon that explodes on impact.

The ground moves under me, and I stumble one way, then the other.  The tinkling of glass chimes behind me, beautiful and haunting, like the rush of a wave.  The crowd shrieks.  I hear my name.  His voice.  Hands grab me from behind and drag me, staggering, backward.  I don't resist, but the ground does.  Swarms of people scream around me, pummeling me in their panic.  They don’t know which way to run.  I'm moving half sideways, half backward, and being dragged by someone having as much trouble as me.  My feet are jolted from underneath me.  I try to catch myself, but fail.  I land on my backside, twisting the wrong way.  Above me, I see it wavering over us, tipping.  Branches, and glass, and swinging blue lanterns.  Groaning cables.

"Eden!"  It's the cry of Apollon's voice, screeching above the noise of battle.  I see him half a block away, his face filled with horror.  Above me, a cable snaps.  The tree tips, showering us with glass.  Hands thrust under my armpits and drag me backward just as it falls.  I'm half-thrown toward the alley, but land well before the protection of the opening.  A body leaps on top of me, a black shadow against the harshness of the light.  Branches and needles and glass crash toward us.  We're battered with splintering wood and glass, and lashed by a cable.  The body above me bears the brunt of it with sharp grunts and a hiss of pain.  Chaos gives way to aftermath.  To a roar of fire.  To panting.  To the smell of smoke, and alcohol on his breath.  A rush of heat against the chill of night.  Around us, cries of panic.  Above me, a single, soft moan of agony.  My heart races with joy and fear.

Footsteps run toward us, dodging panicking people and a mess of branches.  Apollon's hands dig us out, break and throw flaming branches to the side.

"Jonas," I whisper, my fingers reaching to find his face, thrilling to touch him.  "Jonas, are you OK?"

All I get in answer is a groan.  He's limp on top of me.

Then Apollon has us clear.  He kicks aside a lantern dangerously leaking its aether toward us, stamps on the needles that start to ignite in the blue half-gas.  The fire is too close anyway.  He pulls Jonas roughly off me and drags him to safety, slumping him against the alley wall just beyond the reach of the flames.

I scramble after him, kneeling at Jonas’ side.  I take his lolling head in my hands, holding it still, and look into his glazed green eyes.  My heart is suddenly in my throat.  "Jonas," I hiss.  "Jonas."

Again, he groans.

"He's hurt," I say to Apollon, not looking up at him.  My voice breaks unexpectedly.  "His head.  I think—"  A massive wave of screams sounds from not far away, metal crashing, another explosion.  But all I can think of is Jonas.  How he’s hurt.  How he sacrificed himself to protect me.

"He's piss drunk," Apollon corrects me, standing at our side.  "He's had nearly a fifth of whiskey."

Now, I look up at him.  His stance is casual, unconcerned.  Just behind him, chaos rages.

"Are you OK?" Apollon asks.  He glances off behind us at the growing fire, at the continued crash and flare of explosions.

I manage a nod, but I look at Jonas again.  "He's hurt," I insist.  But then I'm shaking him by his arms.  "Are you hurt?" I demand, annoyance rising in me.  "Are you hurt, or are you just drunk?"

Jonas groans again and half raises an arm to fend me off.  "Stop," he says, or at least that's what I think he says.

"Probably both," Apollon concedes.  He glances at the fire and battle again, then stoops and hauls Jonas away from the wall to look at his back.  He pulls the collar of his jacket and shirt back, and peers inside.  He grimaces.  "The cable got him pretty good," he says.  "But he'll live.  If we can stop this bleeding."

I make a noise in my throat, scrambling to look.  It's not pretty.  Jonas groans again as we manhandle him in our efforts to check his wounds.

"We need Neveah.  He's in pain," I say, trying to be gentle and keep Jonas from toppling over at the same time.  He's not making it easy.

"Good thing he's drunk," Apollon says.  "The whiskey is dulling it for now."

Jonas winces like he doesn't agree.

Apollon goes on.  "Neveah's probably underground.  I know where she’ll be.  We need to get there now.  We'll be safe, and she can help him."

Though his words bring up so many questions, we're both distracted.  Sentries clashing, crashing.  Fire.  Explosions.  Screams and groans of agony.  People dodging, running in all directions, even though there's clearly nowhere to run.  There are going to be a lot of people who need Neveah tonight.  Which is how I know that she's not hiding anywhere.  Just as I look up at Apollon's face, the flood light goes out.  I blink in the darkness while my eyes adjust.  There are swimming spots of orange, and puddles of blue fire.  Flashes.  Red beams.  Booms so loud they seem to emanate from my heart.  The ground shivers beneath me, making my legs feel numb.

I shake my head, though I know he probably can't see me.  "Neveah's at the sickhouse.  We should go there, too.  Matt has this covered.”  My voice carries more confidence than I feel.  "He has a plan."  I glance down at Jonas, then off into the distance.  "Let's move."

Apollon only hesitates slightly, then hauls Jonas up by one arm.  I grab his other arm and sling it over my shoulders.  Jonas stumbles between us.  It doesn't help that both of them are significantly taller than me.

We shuffle through the darkness of the alley to the street on the other side, then swing around and head toward the sickhouse.  The streets are chaos.  Dashing black shadows.  Quiet shouts.  People who don't know which way to run.  Somewhere, a baby crying.  We should have prepared them.  They should be underground.  How did we not think of this?

"There's a hatch behind the counter at the Rustler," I call to a family huddled in fear in an alleyway.  "Get down there fast.  Tell people along the way to go with you."

Clutching their children, they flee toward the Rustler.

We tell more along the way.  Halfway to the sickhouse, we find two people hobbling along together.  The first is practically dragging the second who is obviously wounded.  "Hey," I call to them.  "Follow us."

They must recognize me by my voice, because they immediately comply.  Only, they don't look like they're going to make it.  And the sounds of battle are not that far behind us, threatening to overtake our path at any moment.

"I can walk," Jonas mutters, and tries to throw both me and Apollon off.  He stumbles sideways into me, and nearly knocks both of us down.

I jab him in the ribs with my elbow, and wrap my arm around his.  "You're with me."

He makes a noise under his breath.

Apollon saunters over and picks up the wounded man, tossing him over his shoulder.  The girl with him gazes up at Apollon like he's been sent from the gods.  But I catch a glimpse of my friend's face when another flare goes off.  It's not as easy for him as it looks.  His stab wound must still be troubling him.  The girl glances at me, and hurries to take up Jonas' other arm.  As we move on to the sickhouse, it's actually easier.  The girl and I are the same size.  Balanced.

The inside of the sickhouse is lit by oil lamp and a roaring fire in the circular fireplace.  We are not the first people who had the idea to come here.  The scene is bustling with wounded, mostly from the tree incident by the looks of it.  Neveah is in the middle of it all, calm as can be, even though the walls of the warehouse do little to filter the screams and crashes from outside.  While the explosions continue, she soundlessly takes charge of the wounded.  Her workers respond to her gestures as if they have been doing this all along.  On cots and bedrolls strewn throughout the room, injured people trust their broken bones, damaged limbs, and burnt flesh to a small team of people who were, a few days ago, useless.  The sight of it takes my breath away.  Hope flares in my heart.  Then fear.  We could do this.  We could make this work, if only we had a chance.

Neveah sees us and comes to help.  She glances Jonas over, frowns, pats him on the arm, and moves to Apollon.  She points to a bed in the corner.  Apollon dutifully carries his human baggage to the bed and lays him out.  In the light, I see that the man is spattered with blood.  He's older, well-dressed, and vaguely familiar, but I can't place him.  He looks drained, like the blood he's been dripping has worn him down until there's little left to fight with.

Jonas staggers forward and plops himself down on the floor in front of the fireplace.  Now I see the dark stain of blood soaking through his torn jacket in a diagonal slash.  I look for someone to help him, but everyone seems to have their hands full.  My eyes fall on the cabinet and its supplies.  I stride toward it.  So I've never done this before.  Well, I've seen it done.  Close up.  A couple of times.

I select a needle and thread it with some catgut.  I pull the stopper from a bottle of clear solution and sniff it, which I regret immediately.  Definitely alcohol.  I tuck it under my arm, grab a handful of bandages, and return to Jonas.   As I tug his jacket off his shoulders, Jonas drunkenly complies.

Apollon comes and sits next to him, facing me.  He eyes my stash of supplies, then me.  "Really?"

"How hard can it be?"  I pull Jonas' shirt up to his shoulders.  "Hold this," I order, and he leans forward, crossing his arms to hold the garment in place.  His back is a bend of tight, corded muscle.  Only the gash ruins it.  I feel my face color.  Apollon starts chuckling.  I throw him a dark glare and snap, "Don't make fun of me.  I know exactly what I'm doing."

He puts his grin quickly away, but I can see I haven't fooled him.  I tell myself that Jonas is too drunk to know any better.  Then I take a deep breath and uncork the bottle.  As gently as I can, I pour the contents onto the wound, though I know my gentleness won't make any difference.

Jonas gasps.  From behind him I can just see the tightening of his jaw, the clenching of teeth.  The skin across his back shivers.  He says nothing.  I dab the wound clean with some bandages.

I start at the top of the gash and work my way down, trying to recall each step I have seen.  In seconds, it's clear that I'm doing something wrong.  His skin is pulling away from the center.  I make him lie on his stomach while I continue, and that works better.  As my concern about possibly bungling the job fades, I feel a small rush of joy in tending Jonas’ wounds.  My fingers brushing the skin of his back… just being near him again… feels like a gift.  My mind keeps racing over and over the scene with the toppling tree.  He saved me.  Risked life and limb to rescue and shield me.  He hasn’t pulled completely away from me.  Doesn’t hate me.  He….  He still cares.

Apollon just watches me and says nothing.  Occasionally I shoot him glares to cover for the rush of emotion inside me.  I can almost feel his inner commentary.  I'm annoyed with him even though he's said nothing.  But then I remember his face when he picked that man up.  All my annoyance flees.

"How's your stomach?" I ask quietly, carefully working the needle through Jonas' flesh once again.  Jonas hasn't moved for some time.  I think he might have passed out.

Apollon makes a noise.  "Fine.  If you think I'm letting you anywhere near me with a needle—"

"Very funny.  It's not still open, is it?"

He smiles at me.  "If you want to see my stomach, Eden, you could just say so."

I roll my eyes.  "I've had enough of your stomach.  It's closed, right?"  It's been a long time since I've had to clean Apollon's wound, and last I remember it was healing nicely.  At least as far as anyone could see.

"It's fine," he says.  He doesn't offer anything else.

After a while, I say, "Sometimes I can tell you're still hurting."

He sighs.  "Well, maybe the insides take a little longer to heal.  But I'm getting better.  Really."

"You probably shouldn't be hauling people around.”

"I wasn't gonna leave him to bleed to death."

"No."

We listen to the fire for a bit.  Jonas makes a noise like a snore.  Apollon and I share a look.

"What was he thinking?" I ask. "A fifth?  Seriously?"

"'This is the very ecstasy of love,'" Apollon says, leaning back on his hands.  "...'whose violent property foredoes itself, and leads the will to desperate undertakings.'"

I stop sewing and look at him, my mouth falling open.

"Shakespeare," he informs me.

"Again?" I say, making my voice light.  "You must really like him.  Him?  Her?"

"Him," he says.  "William."

I force my hand to stop shaking and jab the needle through Jonas' skin, biting my bottom lip.  Why is Apollon blaming Jonas' drunkenness on love?  Has Jonas said something to him?  Is he drunk because of me?  It seems a million years ago he saw Matt holding my hand.  But it was only this morning.  The final question slams into my brain.  Does Jonas love me?

I duck my head and hunt blindly through tears for the other side of Jonas' cut, hoping that Apollon won't notice.

"Don't worry," he says absently.  "He does this every once in a while, for as long as I've known him.  When it gets to him, I guess.  He just hasn't figured out how to let the past go."

I glance at him, and he's looking thoughtfully away.  Apollon doesn't know.  I am Jonas' past.

Chapter 12:  The Inevitable

The explosions outside have long since stopped.  Earlier, Apollon had a peek out and declared that everything was still standing.  But the influx of wounded Outposters has kept us too busy to worry about what's outside.  We know we're still here, still alive.  Matt's plan must have worked.  It's halfway through the night, and I've gained a lot of experience in sewing people up.  I put the remains of my supplies—a needle and the empty alcohol bottle—back in the cabinet, and stagger toward the fireplace.  I flop down beside Apollon, groaning.  My eyes wander over Jonas.  He hasn't budged.

The door opens, and I prepare to scrape myself off the floor to help the late-comers, but I freeze where I'm at.  Matt glances around, fixes on me, and walks toward us.  He stops in front of us, thumbs hooked in his pockets, and gazes down at me.  "I thought I'd find you here.”  His eyes flick to Apollon.  His mouth turns down disapprovingly, but he says nothing.

I glance at Apollon and start to get up, but my limbs are suddenly so tired.  "They saved me from the tree," I manage as Matt offers his hand and pulls me to my feet.  "And dug me out."

His eyes skim over me, briefly concerned, but I'm not wounded.  Jonas took all that.  I glance down at him despite myself.

Matt's eyes follow mine.  He grimaces at the slash of bandages across Jonas' back.

"Cable."

"I swear I didn’t tell the tree to do it," Matt says, a smile flicking at the corners of his mouth, but even if it was funny I'd be too tired to laugh.

He must sense the dangerous turn my mood is taking.  He puts his hand on my back and gently guides me toward the door.  "Let's go home.  You need some rest."

I let him lead me, glancing back at Apollon, then at the dark circles under Matt's eyes.  "Me?" I say.  "You look like hell."

"I feel like it, too," he admits as we move outside into the darkness.

The intense chill in the air hits me with enough force to keep me awake and on my feet a little while longer.  Our footsteps crunch down the alley, uncertain in the black void.

"So your plan worked again?"  At the end of the alley I peer around for some sign of how it all played out.

He nods, and we walk on.  The Outpost is dead quiet.  A remnant of smoke lingers on the air.  We cross the main road and I catch a glimpse of Sentry steel and aether shimmer through the hanging Outpost gate.  I want to get a closer look, but I'm too tired to even suggest it.  Matt must be, too, because neither of us manage the slightest utterance the rest of the way home.  Opening the door and moving into the fire-lit warmth feels like the brink of relief.  I can't wait to get up those stairs and into my bed.  But Matt catches my arm and pulls me back.  Tugs me into his arms, wrapping them tight around me.  If he thinks now is a good time for romance, he's got another thing coming.

"Eden," he whispers into my hair.  I’m squeezing my palms between us, pushing him back, but the look on his face stops me.  He looks... broken.  I gaze up at him and tears fill my eyes, though I don’t know why.

He swallows, then says my name again, "Eden...."

I frown up at him, trying to stop the swell of emotion that threatens to overtake me.  Whatever he’s going to say, I just know it’s going to be…

"My plan worked," he says, nodding as if to assure me.  But his voice is hollow, and the light that was in his eyes earlier is replaced with an infinite sadness.  "But... it's not enough."  He swallows again, hard.  "I need you to go.  Stop them.  If you can."

After my long wait for these words, this should be a moment of relief.  Of joy.  To some degree, it is.  But there's a deep, heavy sorrow underneath that I never expected, and it’s not just coming from him.  Fear.  Dread.  These catch me off guard, but not Matt.  He draws me closer again, wrapping his arms around me, holding me like I’m the only thing that matters.

"I'm sorry," he whispers.  Even the whisper is choked with pain.  "I would never send you out there if I thought there was any other choice.  I swear it."

For a moment, bewildered, I allow myself to take comfort in his arms.  I rest my head against his chest and blink at the wall.  Fluttering eyelashes chasing away tears.  I try to sort through the emotions and decide what to do or say next.  Surely there is a correct answer.  One that will convince Matt that he has made the right decision, alleviate his fears, and end with me getting the hell out of here.  That's what I want, right?  I can feel my legs aching to run, even now.  The writhing pain in my chest is only the rush of emotion that comes with relief.  But the words that come out of my mouth surprise me.  "…But you got rid of them.  It still worked.  Why are you afraid now?"  I draw back so I can look at his face.  He does look so tired.

He shakes his head slowly, his fingers pressing into my arms.  "I'll show you in the morning," he says.  "You need to rest now."  He tugs me forward and places a little kiss on my forehead, his lips lingering there as though committing the moment to memory.  "Go to sleep, Eden.  You're going to need it."

His face is set, brave, decisive, but his eyes are filled with conflict, with regret.  I close my mouth on my reply, turn, and climb the stairs.  As I head toward my room, toward the bed I have been longing to fall into, I consider leaving it behind.  I consider sleeping on cold roads filled with danger.  I consider the Outpost fading from my memory as though it has been erased.  That's when I realize that this place I have been trying to leave is filled with everything that I know.  And doesn't that make it home?

***

Matt and I crunch through the blanket of snow in the half-light of sunshine filtered through clouds.  The hood of my coat is up, tickling my face with silken rabbit fur.  The noise of our steps disrupts the distant whistle of whirling winds.  We don't talk.  Both of us are quiet in anticipation of what we will see.

The guards open the gate enough to let us slip through.  My eyes scan the open space before the wall, where I can see half-buried shapes of metal fallen in the snow.  Our Sentries are moving around them.  One picks up a large piece—it looks like the bottom half of a Sentry—and carries it toward us.  Its footsteps are so much louder than ours.

I glance past it at the others and see movement off in the distance.  I squint.  That's when I realize that Sentries are scattered all the way past the curve of the wall.  Lots of them.  More than I ever counted in the Outpost.  And there are still the ones stationed inside the gates.  I frown and look at Matt.

"We've been making more," he says.  "That was the plan.  That's what all the metal was for."

"You made more Sentries?" I ask in disbelief.  "Made them?"

He nods as we begin to walk along the wall.  "It wasn't that hard once we had one to work from.  I mean, we probably couldn't have done it without Miranda, but with her it was a breeze.  Coyote Dan and Lloyd were able to forge all the parts.  So it was just the resources that limited us."

I laugh under my breath and shake my head.  "Only you would have thought to make more Sentries."

"Hey," he says, "it worked.  And I hoped that it would be enough.  You know.  A Sentry goes down, another one automatically comes to check out what happened.  One for one.  If that was it, we'd just keep sucking in the Sentries, taking them down, recycling their parts, and we'd get stronger and stronger.  Right?"

I stop and turn to him.  "But it's not," I say quietly.  "Surely you suspected it, too.  But last night, you found out for certain."  I glance around at the aftermath of the battle.  The wall is crumbling again in places.  I consider the voice.  "They're smarter than we think."  I shiver despite myself.

Matt nods grimly and gestures toward the distance.  "C'mon."

We walk along in silence, and I decide I probably don't want to see what he's going to show me.  But I have to see it.  I try to steel myself.

As we start around the curve, Matt says, "The first time, there was a one-for-one response.  Automatic, I suppose.  Maybe they weren’t aware we'd reprogrammed ours.  We hadn’t given ours any new capabilities yet— that was still in the works.  But between our equal force of Sentries and my men pulling crystals, we were able to overtake them without too much trouble.”  He hesitates for a moment.  “This time….”  He wipes one hand through his hair as we walk.  “We rebuilt the ones from the first battle and added them to our force.  We gave them new capabilities— the guns.  Thank god for that.  But given all that, their response was not one-for-one.  They sent considerably more than what we had.  Except…  we still outnumbered them, because we had the ones we’d been making.  I have them working underground, Eden.  So no one could have seen them.”

I swallow hard.  “Seen them?  You think… you think they’re watching us?”

He shakes his head.  “I don’t know.”

“But...” I sputter.  “But will they know now?  Next time, will they send more than we can handle?”

His jaw is tight, twitching.  He's looking straight ahead.  I follow his gaze to a pile of metal.  It's too big to be the remains of a single Sentry.  At first I think it must be several that fell together, but then I see that the metal is darker than Sentries usually are.  There is something else—glass, maybe.

I frown.  "...What's that?"

We walk toward it.  "I think it's one of the flying things that brings erasees to the drop zones," he says quietly.

My eyes go wide.  "Flying things?  Like in the old stories?"  I thought this was all a myth, but it's not more farfetched than the theory that erasees are magically transported to the drop zones via some kind of portal.

"I've seen them before," Matt says as we come up to the pile.  "Not this close.  They have some sort of shielding that makes them disappear into the background, normally.  They come and go without us knowing."

I look at him with my mouth open.  Then my eyes move back to the pile.  I start walking around it slowly.  Matt is watching me.  I'm just taking in the smashed pile of debris.  It's like nothing I've ever seen.  On the one side, the metal shell is prominent, but as I come around the end, there is something that is clearly a control panel.  An engine has rolled a few yards away.  I open my mouth to ask if we can remake it.  That's right when I see the streak of red in the snow.  I blink and keep moving.  And there it is, hanging out from under a jagged chunk of steel.  A hand.  And it is not made of metal.

Chapter 13:  In the Snow

I run around the side, meaning to uncover the body and have a look.  Only, as soon as I make it to the other side, it becomes clear that there is no body.  My eyes dart through the wreckage.

"Where did you take it?" I say in a panic.  "I want to see."

Matt just shakes his head, his brow furrowed.  "No one took it anywhere."  The uncertain quality of his voice is disturbing.  "This is all there was.  We knew about the flying thing, but we didn't find the hand until this morning.  Once the light came."

We stare at each other across the pile of metal.  My whole body is shaking violently.

Matt comes around the pile to me.  "Hey," he says softly, taking me by the arms.

I swallow hard and shake my head.  "You think," I say, but my voice has gone hoarse, "...you think that people are... are...?"  I can't form the entire thought, so thick is the feeling of betrayal.  My head is swimming.

Matt's fingers tighten on my arms, making me focus on him.  "I don't know.  Maybe... Maybe it was bringing an erasee somewhere, and just had them on board during the battle."

"Then where's the body?" I ask more loudly than I mean to.  My eyes are wide on his face.  He glances past me toward the trees.  I follow his gaze.  There are no tracks, but there wouldn't be.  The snow has covered everything.  We probably wouldn’t even have found the hand yet if it wasn’t sheltered on the non-wind side of the debris.  I close my eyes.  "You don't think..."

"That he just got up and walked away without an arm?"  He shakes his head.  "No."

I pull away from him so I can put my hands over my face.  I rub my eyes.  They itch furiously.

"Eden," Matt whispers.  "It'll be OK."

I start laughing.  Still rubbing my eyes, I feel the tension inside me building to a cackle.  "This is not  OK," I say, dropping my hands and striding back toward the gate.

Matt follows.  He knows better than to say anything else.  He just catches up with me and walks silently by my side.

My mind turns away from this new information, refusing it as if it can't possibly be real.  I consider again all the things I considered as I lay awake last night.  There were no right answers.  My plans were a jumble.  I had hoped that sleeping would help work them out.  That when I woke up, it would all make sense.  But I feel as lost as ever.  There is one certain thing, though.  Matt is right.  I have to go.  If I don't go, there is no hope for us.

As they let us back in through the gate, I say, "I need to leave soon.  I should get some things together."

Matt nods.  "Tomorrow.  You need one good night's sleep at least.  Don't worry about things.  I'm taking care of all that.  Your team will have everything we can think of that could possibly help you."

I glance at him as we continue down the road.  "My team."

"I've got fifteen of my best men for you.  I wish I could send more.  But—"

I stop walking.

Matt cuts himself off and turns to me.  "What?"

"I'm not taking your men with me."

"Of course you are.  I'm not sending you out there alone.  We don't even know what could be out there in all that wilderness."

I take a deep breath.  My voice is small.  "Wilderness?"

A little frown passes over his face, followed by the immeasurable patience that he seems to reserve for me, since I test it so often.  "The roads would be far more dangerous, I think.  There are people out there who make a living of preying off of travelers.  There's nowhere to hide.  We may not know much about the wilderness, but no one will be looking for you there.  You can cut through.  It will be shorter, and probably safer."

And entirely frightening.  He may as well be asking me to step into the underworld.  I'm just short of telling him that he can go on this expedition himself, but I know that's not possible.  It's me or no one.  And he's right.  He's thought this through.  It's a good idea.  But if I'm going to do it, it's going to be on my terms.  I take another deep breath.  "I'll put together my own team.”

His eyes narrow on my face.  He sees right through me.  "No," he says, shaking his head and crossing his arms.  "You're not taking them.  I don't trust them."

"Well I do."  I mirror his stance and glare at him defiantly.  "And I don't trust your men as far as I can throw them.  And since I'm the one who has to go out there, I should get to decide."

He's quiet for a moment, studying me.  His index finger taps repeatedly on his upper arm.

"Besides," I say, "you do trust Miranda, or you wouldn't put her in charge of so much."

He's shaking his head again.  His voice, this time, is less scandalized and more hard, cold fact.  "You can't take Miranda.  I need her here.  Without her, we've got no new Sentries."

I purse my lips.  He's right again.  Miranda has to stay.  Guilt surges inside me at the thought of leaving her.  We're all supposed to escape together.  But I'm already questioning the purpose of my mission.  Is it about escape?  Or is it about rescue?  Everything feels so jumbled up inside me.  Very carefully, I say, "You need your men as well.  They helped with the battle last night.  They help protect the Outpost."

His face goes serious.  "The Outpost is nothing, if you're not safe."

I open my mouth, but I don't know what to say to that.  I don't know how to respond to the sincerity in his voice and his gaze.  Finally I manage in little more than a whisper, "Well, how safe am I going to be, if there's nothing to come back to?"

He drops his arms and moves closer to me.  His fingers brush mine, then move to my face.  He smoothes back my hair with his thumbs.  "I need you to come back, Eden," he whispers, his eyes searching mine.  "Will you?  Will you come back?"

My heart hammers in my ears.  I smile faintly.  "Of course."  But I don't know if it's true or not.

Matt must be convinced, though.  His answering smile is also faint, but there is a joy in his eyes that almost seems to sparkle.  His breathing is just a little shallower, like his breath is caught in his chest.  He doesn't say anything for a minute—just drops his hands from my face, strokes my fingers, and looks at the ground.  He’s blinking.  Tears?  But his smile grows into a broad curve.

I feel my cheeks coloring in response to that smile and my stomach turning with the surge of guilt it brings.  I look away and try to get a hold of myself.  I can't mess this up now.

His smile suddenly falls away, replaced by a thoughtful, troubled look.  He stares into the snow for a moment, then starts shaking his head.  “Apollon.”  It’s like speaking the name is painful to him.  “I can’t send you out there with him.  I saw how frightened you were.  The way you grabbed his hand—”

“He’s my friend,” I protest.  “He could practically be my brother.”  I’m shaking my head, too, and laughing incredulously.  “Of course I was frightened.  I thought he was dead and then the Sentry—”  My voice breaks and I have to try again.  “The Sentry…”  I look away, visions of dangling feet clouding my memory.

Matt reaches for me again.  I don’t pull away, but I can’t look at him.  I’m shivering.

Gently, he turns my face up to his.  I think he’s going to question me, but he just looks into my eyes, searching for the answers there.  I allow myself, for just a moment, to feel the warmth of his presence and radiate it back to him.  A little laugh escapes him and he looks away.  I can see the relief in his face.  He believes me about Apollon.  And he should.  But he’s asking about the wrong person.  I’m not sure how he could have missed it.  Matt’s too sharp for that.  I suppose denial is a powerful thing.

We both sigh at the same time, and our eyes find each other again.

"Do you really trust them?" he asks, looping his arm through mine.  We begin walking slowly again.  "Even after..."  Anger briefly washes across his face, then is gone.  Smothered.  The rest of his words are clipped.  "After them backing Grey."

"They hate Grey," I tell him, and all of it is true.  "They would have sided with you, if they had thought there was any way you would win.  They were just trying to keep us alive."

"And you trust people with loyalties that sway that easily?"  He glances at me.  "You're not afraid that they'll switch sides when it's convenient?"

I shake my head.  "No.  Not when it comes to me.  We're family.  Apollon and Jonas have both risked their lives for me more than once.  You don't put your life on the line for someone that you would betray."

"Oh, I don't know about that." Matt nudges me in the ribs with his elbow.  "You did fall off that barstool for me, didn't you?  How many times did you betray me after that?"

I look up at him, but his face is painted with amusement.  I narrow my eyes.  "How do you know that I wasn't just trying to save myself by falling off the barstool?"

"So now you admit it," he says, jerking his head back.

"I didn't admit anything," I laugh.

"Sounded like an admission to me," he teases.  "And all this time you've been holding that over me.  How you saved my life 'n' all."

"I did," I say, matter-of-factly.  "So the least you can do to repay me is to let me choose my own team when I am going off into the great unknown to save your bacon, yet again."

His lips twitch.  He glances at me.  "Truth be told, even if the Sentries come for us all, I doubt they'll do anything to Valentine.  She'll have the whole Outpost to herself, and she'll love it."

"Not if there's no one to start a fire for her."

"I'm sure she'll manage.  So long as she has your chair."

We wander on, our words continuing to tease and play.  But I know I've won.  I know that when I leave here, my friends—at least most of them—will be coming with me.

***

My team stands ankle-deep in the snow by the Outpost gates, waiting for me.  There are four of them: Apollon, Jonas, Taylor, and Jacob.  Neveah is not coming.  She doesn't want to go out there.  I can't blame her.  Maybe she will be needed here, as well.  Matt has promised to look after her and Miranda.  As for Jacob and Taylor, they weren't my picks, but there was no way Matt was going to let me traipse off into the wilderness with just Jonas and Apollon.  And if I had to pick someone from Matt's crew, I would probably pick them.  So I didn't argue too much.

Apollon and Jonas have their own packs, though I know Matt told them not to bring anything.  At least they’re wearing the full winter gear Matt has provided— gloves, boots, lined pants, and coats like nothing I’ve ever seen.  I’m similarly bundled, and feeling completely snug though it’s beyond cold today.  I have not spoken to my friends about the trip at all.  They are here on Matt's orders.  They eye our truck as Matt pulls up next to them.

"Get in." I nod toward the back.  Jacob and Taylor are already climbing in amongst the packs.  My friends wordlessly follow my instructions and join them.

The guards open the gates wide and Matt drives through.  I hang onto the dashboard and armrest as we bounce down the broken road.  This is my second time in the truck—Matt took me for a drive yesterday, when we should have been preparing—but I don't think I will ever get used to moving at this speed.  I glance nervously back at the boys to see how they're fairing.  All four of them are huddled against the cab to try to stay out of the wind.  I sigh and look ahead where we're going.  The sky hangs over us, a span of periwinkle.  The stars have not yet gone out.  On my right, a wash of red and orange is appearing through the tree line.  A beautiful color.  It sets my heart racing.  Again, I'm glancing back, wondering if my friends see it.  Apollon is saying something to Jacob and Taylor.  But Jonas is quiet, his eyes on the dawn-swept sky.  I look again at the melting colors and contemplate what he is thinking.

The pavement and trees and moments fly by, and nothing interrupts my silent thoughts.  Matt, behind the wheel, is quiet.  Yesterday was his day for saying things.  Today, his eyes flit to me occasionally.  When I meet them, once, he manages a smile.  I'm not convinced.  There's a quietness about him that goes beyond the lack of words.  I've only seen him so dark once before when he thought everything was lost.  He's trying to hide it now for my sake.  He's even doing a good job.  But he's carrying tension in his shoulders, in his neck and jaw.  His breathing is slow, too purposely measured.  His fingers grip the steering wheel a touch tighter than yesterday.

"How hard could it be?" I say, poking him with one gloved hand, grinning.  I don’t want him to feel like this.  His silent pain is seeping into me, contagious.  "Didn't your men tell you how easily I popped that crystal out of the Sentry the first time?  I've just got to get to the tower, and it'll all fall into place.  Same deal.  Right?"

"Sure," he agrees, flashing me a grin.  It doesn’t touch his eyes.  "Clearly you were meant for this.  You'll be back in no time."  He glances into the driver's side mirror, then the rearview.  He reaches up and adjusts it.  Blinks.  Focuses on the road, squinting.

I look away from him and watch the trees.  Sigh.  Yesterday did a lot for dispelling the horror of the unknown, though the vast world within the forest is still entirely intimidating.  There are beautiful things out there, too, though, and part of me is looking forward to seeing them.

We drive for maybe an hour.  Nothing but us, and road, and scanner posts, and trees.  Matt slows the truck before I see them, silver blending against the background of white.  Two Sentries standing ahead of us.  Our road ends where it intersects with another running right and left.  I already knew this from the map.  This is our exit.

Matt brings the truck to a stop in front of the Sentries.  I glance at him and his jaw is tight.  He's not looking at me.  He shuts off the ignition then opens his door and climbs out.  I follow suit.

Jonas and Apollon hop out of the truck bed on my side.  Apollon's eyes briefly find mine, though he says nothing.  I can’t help but wonder what he’s thinking.  If he knows about Elaina now, which surely he must.  Jonas walks past me as though I don't exist.  He moves toward the front of the truck.  Toward the Sentries.  He and Matt converge before them and cast long looks at each other.  Jonas is not hiding, here, out of the Outpost.  This is the meeting of two alphas.  But maybe he should be more cautious.  The Sentries are one metal step away.

Jacob and Taylor cuss softly as they pull the slew of gear from the bed of the truck and make a pile.  I opt to help them, rather than get in the middle of anything else.  Once everything is out, I adjust my coat, pulling up the fur-lined hood.  Then I pick my own pack out of the mess and shoulder it.  I tighten its straps until the weight is settled comfortably over my back.  I glance at Matt, Jonas, and Apollon.  A moment ago I heard their voices, but now none of them speak.  I share a look with Jacob, then sigh and wander over.

Jonas and Apollon, looking uneasy, move away to the packs.  I let my eyes follow them.  They'll have to decide what to take and what to leave.  They mumble to each other as they rifle through their supplies and the ones Matt has provided.  Did they even know we’re going through the wilderness, or did they still think we would travel by road?  I look at Matt, seeking answers from his face, but there are none.  He moves closer, slides his hand between my pack and the small of my back, and pulls me to him.  His other fingers twine in my hair.  My hood falls.  He buries his face in my shoulder.

I put my arms around him, too, though lightly, my palms resting on his shoulder blades.  I'm aware—too aware—of Jonas and Apollon.  But this moment is critical.  Matt has to be willing to let me go.  Our lives... everything... depends on this.  Matt sighs against me, and I hold him tighter.  I want to comfort him, make this easier.  I want to convince him that it will be OK.  Not just him.  Myself.  We stay just like that for moments.  I'm leaning into him, maybe from the weight of the pack, but maybe not.  As I sense our withdrawal nearing, a tiny jolt of panic seizes me.  I force it away.  Footsteps crunch through the snow toward us.  Matt and I separate.  I avoid his gaze and look away, squinting at the snow.  I fix my hood and pull up the mask underneath so it covers my chin and nose.

Apollon tromps through the space between us, saluting Matt as he goes.  "Merry Christmas," he tosses out cockily.  "And God bless us, every one."  He keeps going, past the Sentries.  Past the posts.  Jonas follows without a word or glance at anyone.

Matt and I exchange looks.  He's not amused, but neither of my friends are his focus.

I swallow hard.  Glance at Apollon and Jonas, moving away.  Back at Matt.  My lips part, but I can't get any words out.  I try again.  Then I turn away quickly.  For a moment, I gaze after my friends.  Jacob and Taylor walk up behind me.  I lift my face to the nearest Sentry and a chill passes through my whole body.  I can’t believe what I’m about to do.  I step toward the Sentry, pushing all the nightmare memories away, and thump it on the side.  “Let’s go, you metal pile of shit.”  My voice sounds far braver than I really am.

The response to my command is abrupt.  The metal claw closes on me and yanks me into the air.  We lurch into motion.  Jacob and Taylor are caught up by the other Sentry, and we fly through the snow.  I realize now I should have warned my friends, and it’s almost too late.  I barely have time to shout at Apollon and Jonas before we’re upon them, and they, too, are snatched into the air.

“It’s OK,” I yell across to them, even as I’m trying not to vomit, myself.  They’re a tangle of limbs and wide eyes, trying to sort themselves out, trying to process what’s happening.  “It’s ours,” I reassure them.  “Our ride.  You’re safe.”

They stop struggling and throw me indignant, accusing glares.

“A little warning next time, Eden,” Apollon says.

I nod and try to rearrange myself as well.  The metal grip is almost too much to bear.  We hit the tree line and behind us comes the revving of the truck's motor.  It falls away.  We’re moving in the opposite direction at a rapid rate.  Though the thought feels somewhat ironic while in the grip of a Sentry, I realize… after all this time, I'm free.  No more Outpost.  No more Matt.  I should be elated now that I’ve finally gotten what I wanted all along.  So why do I feel like I've just lost something?

Chapter 14:  Underworld

The trees stretch their arms over us, a tunnel of glistening white.  I glance at the branches above, laden in crystals of ice, and think of Matt's Christmas.  A few hours in, we’ve stopped for a rest.  Stopped to stretch our legs and get ourselves out of the arms of these hellish creatures.  But really, there’s not much stopping to it.  As soon as they hit the ground, Apollon and Jonas started walking.  So our group forges onward, the Sentries stalking along beside us.  I eye the boys’ backs ahead of me.  Maybe they do know where we're going.  Or maybe they're just walking.  Away.  For a while, neither of them say anything or even look back.  We move in a line, a string of us, disconnected by gaps in between.

Eventually, Apollon stops walking.  He's the first one to come to the edge of the trees.  Jonas stops at his side.  They both gaze out onto an open expanse of white.  I come up next to them.  Apollon and I look at each other, then he eyes the Sentry behind me.  Jonas just gazes away into the distance.  Jacob and Taylor catch up, take in the openness before us, and grunt.

"You know where we're going?" I ask Taylor.

He nods.

"Lead on.  I want to walk on my own two feet for a bit longer."

He doesn't protest.  Just starts out right away.  Jacob hangs back with the rest of us.  Again, Apollon and I exchange glances.  We start walking.  Jonas follows, and Jacob takes up the rear, the Sentries moving along beside him.

In my peripheral vision, I catch Apollon glancing backward.  I follow suit.  Jacob is probably out of earshot.  Taylor is far enough ahead of us that he won't hear either.

"Should we come up with a plan?" Apollon asks, his voice low, like he has made the same observations I have.

"This is the plan."

"This is the plan?"  He gives me a doubtful look.

Behind us, a soft snort.

I ignore Jonas' quiet commentary.

"This is the plan," I say again, softly.  "It's what we wanted.  It took me longer to accomplish than I thought.  And Neveah and Miranda were supposed to be with us.  But we're out.  This is where we were headed all along."  I look back at Jonas, now.  I can't help it.  He doesn't look away, but he doesn't meet my eyes, either.  I turn back to where I'm going.  The white stretches onward until trees appear on the other side, tiny in the distance.  "Who knew it was so big out here," I mumble.

We push onward, falling silent, the snow biting cold against our legs and feet.  The wind is not bad today, but even the slight breeze stings against my face.  I pull my hood tighter and adjust my mask, shivering.  It’s awkward with the gloves making static.  Tiny pieces of my hair keep tickling my eyes.  I'm going to have to get used to this.  Cold and discomfort.  I can't help but think of the warm fire back home.  Not home.  Outpost Three.  Matt's.

Before long I realize that we’re wasting time travelling by foot.  However unpleasant, we should be using our metallic companions to our benefit.  Reluctantly, I signal my friends, but this time I tell the Sentries to stay still while we climb on.  Jonas and Apollon eye me as I dole out commands to robots whose mere presence shoots fear into all of our guts.  The cold steel brings back too many memories and the grief of memories taken away.  I ignore it out of necessity, take a deep breath, and put on a face that exudes confidence in my ability to control these walking nightmares.

We climb up in silence, find our perches.  A glance at the boys reveals that they are as good at pretending to be brave as I am.  Riding attached to a Sentry’s shoulder is precarious, but infinitely more bearable on a mental level than being grasped in its claw.  The robots take off into the snowy landscape with us clinging desperately to their arms and backs.  I grit my teeth, considering what a fall at this speed could do to me.  Still, it’s better this way.  I’ll risk the fall.

We fly through open spaces and deep forest, snapping branches and plowing through snow.  My teeth jar as we bound along and after maybe an hour I’m not sure if I can handle any more.  My arms are slipping, snow spray biting into my face were my mask is sliding.  I can’t let go to adjust it or wipe my face without falling off.  I’m rethinking the idea of traveling this way at all.  There’s nothing that would make me happier than walking right now.

“Stop!” I command, the last of my patience spent.

The Sentries slam to a halt, the weight of our bodies crushing into them with the suddenness of the gesture.  We’re all cursing as we pry our leaden fingers loose and drop down to the ground.

“A little warning next time, Eden,” Apollon reasserts his earlier request, narrowing his eyes at me.

“Sorry,” I manage, wiping my face with my coat sleeve.  My legs feel weird—not quite right.  I start to walk slowly to warm them up, adjusting my pack on my shoulders.  Before I can say anything else, one of the Sentries makes a sudden turn to the side, its blank, mirrored visage scanning the trees around us.

“What the—” Jacob whispers, his eyes widening on the forest where it’s looking.

We all fall deadly silent, afraid to speak.  Afraid to move.  To breathe.  There is nothing but the whirl of wind, the long span of anticipation between heartbeats, our eyes darting through the shadow beneath the trees.

They fall on us, exploding from the dense forest, metal limbs flashing as they pass to open sunlight.  Three new Sentries, and they are not from Outpost Three.  They lunge for us, determined to carry out their job of stealing our lives.  We’ve passed beyond the barrier.  We are criminals to be hunted and exterminated.

I’m shrieking as our Sentries intercept.  They’re outnumbered, but our robots have weapons that the others don’t.  One of them fires a blast from the gun attached to its arm.  An enemy Sentry is knocked off its feet, metal exploding out of its hip joint, disconnecting.  It flounders for a second and starts to get up.  The others are a tangle of steel, tearing at each other.  Metal creaks and groans and smashes.

“Run!” Jonas is yelling, dragging me by the arm.

I come to my senses enough to follow his directions.  We take off into the snow, a pack of animals driven by panic.  Boots crunching on hard packed snow.  Wind in our faces.  Cold breath.  Sweat under our coats.  The world a white blur jarring by us.  We run and run, leaving the noises of battle behind us.  Even then, we continue to drive ourselves for a long time, until we are a panting mess incapable of moving.  We stop to listen for the briefest moment.  There is no sign of pursuit.  Without speaking, we start walking, staggering slowly onward, trying to catch our breath as we go.  None of us speak.  A grim determination has come over us.  We keep moving and pick up the pace again once we are able to.  Every step is a huge task, but the thought of what might be behind us keeps us going.

By late afternoon, we are completely exhausted, and we know we must soon stop.  Surely if the Sentries were following us, they would have caught up by now.  We cross an open space and make it to the cover of the next stand of trees.  They form a sheltering den, blocking the breeze, but the sun as well.  It's cold here in their shade, and deeply quiet.  I feel like they watch us as we pass by them.  Like they are wondering who we are to intrude on their space.  We walk amongst them for a while, reluctant to stop, even now.  My legs are so tired from trudging through the snow that I feel I will collapse if I keep going.  The others must feel the same, because as we come to the edge of the next open space, we all stop at once.  We gaze out over the distance longingly, as if freedom from our fear lies beyond.  But none of us have the will to keep going.  We toss down our packs.  I flop onto a rock, releasing the agony of holding myself upright.  Jacob sits across from me and fishes in his pack for food.  My mouth waters at the thought.  I am hungrier than I have been in a long time.

Jacob passes out our rations—dried meat and a hunk of cheese each.  We wolf it down without speaking.  Apollon finishes first.  I wonder how food has been for my friends since Matt's victory.  Better than before, I'm sure.  But how much better?  I feel suddenly guilty at the thought of food I did not finish.  Food that went to waste.

Done with his meal, Taylor pulls the map from a pocket in his pouch and studies it.  Jacob leans over his shoulder and they mutter to each other, alternating between looking at the map and off into the distance.  I don't bother.  I've seen the map, and there's not much to go by.  There’s nothing of this unknown wilderness-- only cities and roads.  We have a general bearing and hopefully we'll bypass Outpost Four and eventually run into the city.  Staying away from the road was supposed to reduce the risk of being noticed by Sentries, but we didn’t take into account the fact that ours are part of the network, and therefore traceable.  We should never have brought them with us.  Well, they’re gone now, and we have a long journey ahead of us without them.  Cutting across the outside world significantly shortens our journey, but who knows how long it will take us on foot?  If we can even find our way there.

I gaze off into the distance, awed by the size of the wilderness and worried that whatever we do, it will be too late.  I’m restless, ready to start moving again.  I’m not the only one.

Taylor puts the map away and takes up his pack.

I struggle to my feet and shoulder mine as well.  While I’m still shrugging it on, tightening the straps, Jonas speaks for the first time.

"Where are we going?" he asks, a question to the group in general.  How little did Matt tell them?

"South," I say, not looking at him.

His eyes dart to me for the first time, but I'm already turning away.  Even with my back to him, I can feel the buzz of energy coming off of him.  South.  It's exactly where he wants to go.

Apollon pulls his pack on and moves to my side, looking out over the white stretch we’re about to traverse.  "Why?"  His voice is casual, but I know he's not missed my cue to Jonas.

"Eden's going to shut down the Sentries," Jacob says for me.  "Our mission is to get her to one of the white towers safely so she can do it."

Now I feel both Jonas' and Apollon's eyes on me, but I just look out over the snow.

"You can do that?" Apollon finally asks.

I shrug.  "If I don't, there's not gonna be any Outpost left."

Jonas snorts.  "No Sentries."

Apollon studies me.  "You think that's a good idea?"

I squint at him.  "You have a better one?"

He grins.  Apollon has a way of brushing things off, of making all the heaviness feel so light.  "Well then," he says, "we better get moving."  He tugs the straps of his pack and leads off walking backward the first few steps.  "We have towers to find.  Sentries to kill."  He's laughing as he turns away from us and plummets downward through the ground.  Through the ice.

***

"Apollon!" I shriek, leaping forward.  Jonas catches me and swings me back.  Panic and rage take hold.  I kick him in the knee and scramble for Apollon.  I'm not doing this again.

There's nothing but a jagged hole in the snow ahead of me.  I throw off my pack and drop to my hands and knees, crawling closer.  Jonas grabs me by the ankle, but he doesn't drag me back like I expect.

"I've got you."  Calm washes over me with his voice.  We can do this.

I stretch forward, lying on my stomach to reach the hole.  The water looks black inside.  I can see nothing.  "Apollon!  Apollon!"  I don't know if he can hear me.  I don't know if he's even there.  I plunge my arm into the icy water, feeling the shock of cold move through my whole body, liquid seeping into my coat sleeve, into my glove.  I can't seem to breathe out.  I command my arm to feel around, but there's only biting pain and numbness.  I could be touching Apollon and not know it.

The water churns, and I don't think it's me.  Then just the tiniest tips of his gloved fingers appear beside my arm.  I grab for him, my movements slow and dumbed down.  I think I have hold of him, but I can't be sure.  When I try to move back, I’m stuck.  I push away from the ground.  A cracking noise announces the crumbling of the ice beneath me, where it erodes from the hole outward.

Jonas hauls me backward by the ankles, but I'm not letting go of Apollon. At least I think I'm not.  Both arms sink into the water, and my face and chin take a dip.  I breathe ice-water through my nose, then cough and spurt and splutter for air.  I'm still not letting go.

A branch skitters across the snow toward me.  "Eden!" Jacob's warning seems to follow the delivery.  The branch whacks me across the shoulder, but I can't feel a damned thing.

I try to bring one arm up from the water.  It's not happening.  My limbs won't obey.  All I can feel is bone-deep pain and heaviness.  My arms are going to fall off.  They really are.  More ice collapses inward, and then Apollon's hands emerge, climbing up my arms, grip by grip.  The ground beneath me gives.  My belly is soaking, my front end tilting down into the hole.  Apollon ducks deeper in and he loses hold of one arm.  We cling to each other via the remaining connection.  I'm going to lose him.  The ice groans beneath me.  I grab with my free arm for the branch.

Somehow, I manage to slide it across the hole and guide Apollon's hand to it.  His fingers curl around it, and his head emerges from the water, gasping and sputtering.  Jonas yanks me backward.  I hug the branch as I go, holding on for all I'm worth.  Apollon comes with it.  He's barely hanging on to the end as we slide his shivering body across the ice toward what must be safety.

Jonas makes it to him, grabs him under the arms and hauls him to the tree line.  I lay still, unable to move at first.  Taylor, who had Jonas by the feet much the same way Jonas had me, runs to one of our abandoned packs and digs for something.  Jacob is throwing wood into a pile.  Taylor rushes to his side with an aether flashlight, tosses it on top, and smashes it with his boot.  Faster than a match or lighter.  The aether creeps outward in blue tendrils, igniting the wet wood.  Smoke and blue-tinged aether fumes rise upward, followed by a crimson plume of flame.

They work in a flurry to strip the icy-stiff clothes off of Apollon and get him into one of our sleeping packs as close to the fire as they can safely put him.  Jacob throws snow in a small pan and puts it on the fire.  Good thinking.  Warm him up from the inside, too.  There's got to be something I can do to help.  I manage to sit, then try to push myself up.  Instead, I fall over in the snow.  I’m shaking, and the pain in my arms is tremendous.  I clamp my eyes shut against its growing intensity.

Jonas suddenly plucks me off the ground and carries me toward the fire.  I didn't even hear him approaching.  He sits me on another sleeping pack and removes my coat, gloves, and soaked mask.  They’re not only wet, but frozen.  The rest of my clothing is not so bad.  Only a little damp.  My coat kept most of the water out.  Jonas sits behind me, straddling me with his legs, and wraps his arms and a blanket around me.  For a while, the pain in my arms is almost unbearable.  I feel like all the bones have been smashed, and my flesh has been set on fire.  I grind my teeth against the agony, forcing each breath.  But after a while, it starts to fade.  I manage to focus my mind elsewhere.  I watch Taylor and Jacob look after Apollon, and allow myself to sink numbly back into Jonas' arms.  The fire begins to feel good, and Jonas breathes warm air down my neck, which feels even better.  Pain begins to fade into comfort.  When Taylor presses a steamy cup of water into my hands, I'm already drifting to sleep.  I manage to raise it to my lips and drink, then I hand it back to him, and let everything disappear.

***

When I awake, I immediately regret it.  My body feels sluggish and sore, but leaving the peacefulness of my dream is the real discomfort.  I know exactly where I am before I'm fully conscious.  The awareness comes with a rush of longing—with the knowledge that it will all change too soon.  Before I can make myself be still, Jonas has noticed the difference in my breathing.  He shifts in preparation for withdrawal.  I suppress my groan of protest and, blinking, sit up.

When I open my eyes, I realize my selfishness.  I scan the dark lump of blankets where Apollon rests.  "Is he OK?"  My voice is a hoarse squeak.

"He'll live," Jonas says.  I almost laugh at how much he and Apollon sound the same, remembering Apollon's response when Jonas was injured saving me from the tree.  He takes his arms from around me, pushes me fully upright, and stands up.  He drops the blanket across my shoulders and moves away.

I pull the blanket around me and clutch both sides together at my chest.  On the other side of the fire, Jacob is filling the pan with more snow.  Taylor settles another dampened branch onto the already-blazing pile of flames, then rummages in his pack.  I stretch my legs and manage to climb to my feet, though I'm feeling a little unsteady.  I'm grateful when Taylor brings me a handful of dried meat and some nuts.  I free one hand to accept his offering, then munch on it as I hover near the fire.  I peek occasionally at Jonas, who pays me no attention in return.

I watch him check Apollon, feeling his hands for warmth, pulling his blankets closer.  The way he tends to his longtime friend shows far more care than the simple assessment of his words.  I want to kneel beside him—to help in some way—but I know I’m not welcome.  Instead, I linger where I am and feel lost.  Separate.

Apollon continues to sleep through the deepening night.  As Taylor and Jacob build up the fire, I consider that a whole day has passed, and we have barely begun our journey.  We're beaten up already.  Time is ticking away.  Sentries may be tracking us.  Is there any way we’ll get to the tower in time to save the Outpost?

Before I left, Matt and I came up with an emergency plan—get everyone below ground if the Sentries come again—but will it work?  Would they be able to hold out there long enough?  Matt is moving food and supplies below, but the Outposters will not be able to survive in the tunnels forever.  My thoughts are thick with doubt and fear.  I hardly notice the others talking, at first.

"...It's not a big deal," Jonas is saying.  "Eden and I can share a bedroll."

I squint at them across the campfire.

Jacob and Taylor are sputtering.  Clearly they don't like the idea of Jonas being anywhere near me.  They are Matt's men, after all.  But Apollon's pack is now somewhere under the ice, and it's cold out.  Someone's going to need to share.

"She's small," Jonas says.  "We'll both fit.  It just makes sense."

Neither of the brothers look happy about it.

Jonas adds to their discomfort before turning his back on them.  "It's not like we haven't slept together before."  He walks toward me.

I tuck my chin downward, letting my hair fall over my face to hide the flush of red.  My heart is leaping at the remembrance of lying next to him, his arm tucked over me, our friends on either side of us.  Home.  But next to that is a nagging sorrow.  Maybe he's not talking about this life at all.  Maybe he's talking about something that neither of us will ever know or remember.  Something that's gone.

We slip into the pack next to each other without so much as a word or a look at each other's face.  Across the way, Jacob and Taylor are getting ready to sleep and carefully ignoring us.  I lie down facing the fire and Jonas slides one arm under my head.  His other goes over my waist.  I think I'm going to manage to hold in the sigh, but then he pulls me close and it escapes freely.  I let myself relax against him, sinking into his warmth.  I let myself feel the happiness of his embrace.  However temporary this might be, it feels right.  It feels like home.

Chapter 15:  Pyromania

We're taking the terrain slower, now, careful of the ground we're stepping on.  All of these barren stretches are water, it turns out.  All of them full of peril.  Who knows what else is out here?  If the ground can open up and swallow you, then what else can happen?  All the while, we’re glancing behind us, looking for signs of pursuit.  Every noise makes us jump.

We're three days in, now.  Sore, and cold, and exhausted.  We have to stop often to rest and warm up.  Apollon's been weak since he woke up.  I imagine it will take some time for him to feel fully recovered.  Not that traversing this icy world helps.  He still favors his side, too.  The others don't seem to notice, but I can't imagine that Jonas has missed the fact.

I'm as worn down as the others, but every time we stop, I feel panic rise within me.  Only part of it is the threat of the Sentries.  Mostly, I’m compelled to push onward.  We need to move faster.  I want desperately to blame this urge on the pull of the tower—on whatever it is that has been buried within me.  But I find myself thinking about the Outpost.  About Neveah and Miranda.  Coyote Dan, Julian, Sawyer.  And Matt.  I try to force myself to think of the others first, but I don't.  It's always Matt.  Too often, I ponder the things he said that day we went on our drive.  I'm enthralled by the sentiment of his words, even if I'm not willing to accept them.  Sometimes, I let my mind graze the idea of a future with him.  I push it away.  I'm feeling lonely, I tell myself.  The world out here is deep and cold.  How could anyone not feel lonely out here?  It doesn't help that my companions are so quiet.  There is hardly any companionship at all.

When Jonas does speak, it's all acid.  Or mumbles to Apollon that my ears can't pick up.  He's still angry with me and it doesn't look like he plans to forgive me anytime soon.  Part of me understands, but part of me resents his anger.  I got us through.  I got us out.  We're not Grey's subjects.  We're not hiding in a hole.  If I hadn't done what I did, things would be so much worse.  And he's got what he's wanted for so long.  He's headed south.

It’s Apollon that really breaks my heart.  However much I internally justify my actions, I cannot shake the feeling that when he looks at me, he’s seeing the horror of what happened to Elaina.  Is there any way he’ll be able to forgive me for her death?  Any way we’ll ever move past all the things that have happened to us and rekindle our friendship?

The sky is dark today and the wind strong.  We've been walking through a long stretch of forest, and now we stop to rest.  There's not much wood to build a fire here, so Apollon volunteers to go get some.

"I'll go with you," I say, feeling restless already.  And I'm not letting him go off on his own to get into any more trouble, either.  Though I doubt I’ll have the courage to bring up the things that are weighing on my mind, part of me longs for the opportunity to talk without the others around.  Truth is, I miss him.

We crunch off through the trees, looking for recently fallen branches.  Something halfway dry.  Something not buried in snow.

"You doing OK?" I ask as we go.

Apollon snorts.  "I haven't fallen into freezing water today, so I'd say that's pretty good."

"No kidding, huh."

He throws me a half-smile that looks so normal.  So Apollon.  A moment later, he says, "How 'bout you?"

"Ah, well, none of my friends have fallen into freezing water today, so..."

He laughs, grabs a dead branch still hanging off of a tree, and breaks it off.

A gust of wind sends snow swirling around us.  I tighten my hood and adjust my mask.  "It's freaking cold out here."

"No shit."  The comment comes with a cocky smile.

There's an easiness in the way Apollon responds that makes me feel warmer.  For the first time I start to hope that our friendship will survive the mess I’ve made.  "I just wasn't meant for the cold," I ramble on, wanting to keep the conversation going.  "I must've come from somewhere warm."

"That would explain the horns and pointy red tail."

I check behind me.  "I thought that was invisible to humans."

Whatever his words were, they blend into the howl of the wind.  I turn my back as I'm pelted with snow coming from the side.  I wait for it to die down, but it doesn't.  Within seconds, I'm covered in it.  I look at Apollon, whose dark clothing is entirely coated in white.  I can barely see past him, though he's right next to me.  We look up and have the realization at the same time.

He grabs my hand, still clasping the branch with his other, and tugs me into motion.  "Let's go."

We start running, but before long, we’re stumbling.  A violent wind pushes us backward.  I lean into it, trying to move, and end up on my knees.  Apollon drags me to my feet.  My mask is sliding off my chin.  We gain a few steps, our eyes clamped, mouths spitting out snow.  Tiny, sharp daggers of ice blast into our faces, stinging like fire.

"The tree," I think Apollon has said, though his voice is broken on the wind.  We fall down against the nearest trunk, finding a bit of shelter from the wind and ice.  But the snow is still whipping around us.  Everything is white, and getting whiter.

"This is bad," Apollon yells beside me.  His voice is small and faint.

"We have to get back to the others," I yell back.  He nods.  We hang onto each other, and make another attempt at changing location.

We move about five yards to the next tree and almost run into it before we even know it's there.  We crouch down to shelter, batting piles of snow off of each other before trying again.  But by the next tree, we're both shivering intensely.  We're not going to make it back to camp.  We need to find real shelter.  We continue our plight, but both of us know now that our goal is simply to survive.

Relief floods through the adrenaline when we stumble upon a dense clump of growth.  A couple of bushes grow near a large fir that bends its branches all the way to the ground.  We scramble into the little space underneath, breaking branches to get further in, then pile up what we can to cover the opening.  Again, we brush snow from each other, then huddle together, trying to get warm.  Some wind makes it through into our shelter, but the worst is kept out.  Outside, the storm screams its anger at our escape.  Neither of us speak, but I know we're both wondering the same thing:  Are our friends OK?  Is Jonas OK?

Darkness falls on the world outside our shelter, though it can’t be night yet.  Just the storm, blocking out every bit of the sun.  For a long time the world hovers in that false twilight, and then, hours later, it really gets dark.  The night around us is pitch black, the storm roaring loudly.  Neither of us sleep.  We huddle, and shiver, and wonder for hours on end.

In the morning, I wake suddenly, surprised that I've slept at all.  I'm curled into the crook of Apollon's armpit, and we're both leaning against the trunk of the fir.  I must have startled Apollon awake, too, because he sits up straighter and looks groggily around like he's not sure where we're at.  Through our tangle of branches, one brilliant patch of snow makes me blink against its brightness.  Everything is quiet, like there never was a storm at all.

"It's done," Apollon whispers.  His breath is a cloud of steam in the frozen air.  I can feel him shivering, which makes me realize how cold I am, right through to the bone.

We begin pulling away the branches that enclose us.  The snow is biting cold against my knees as I crawl outside.  More snow launches itself from the branches above me, piling on my head.  I stand and dust myself off, scanning the world around us.  Everything is covered in a thick layer of white.  There's no sign that we were ever here.  No footprints to track back to the campsite, and no way of telling where we came from.  It's all the same.

Apollon looks around for a moment.  "OK.  Don't panic."

"Not panicking," I say, though my voice sounds tighter than I intended.

We spend another minute in silence, taking in our surroundings.

I jump when Apollon suddenly bellows "Helloooooo...."  I glare at him, then join him when he takes a deep breath and tries again.

"Hellloooooo...."  Our voices echo across the snowy expanse, disappearing into the oblivion.  We stand still and listen.  We turn our heads.  Waiting.  Straining our ears.  Nothing ever comes.  We alternate yelling and listening for about ten minutes, then give up.

I rub my hands over my face, take a deep breath.  "What now?"

Apollon hesitates.  He doesn't have any better idea than I do.  "Bathroom break," he finally says.  I nod and we head to opposite bushes.  No point in trying to make critical decisions when you need to pee.

A moment later we regroup where we were.  Again, we stand stupidly and look around, as if anything has changed in the last two minutes.  I find myself looking at the sky, at how blue it is, and wondering why it's so damned cold when the sun is shining.  I'm shivering, and Apollon still is, too.

"If only we had a way to build a fire," I mutter.  "We could warm up.  And maybe if they're still... nearby... they could see it."  A new kind of shiver works through me at the choice of words I avoided.

Apollon starts digging in his pocket.

"We're kinda screwed," I admit.  "All I have is my knife.  Without food, blankets... without fire... we're probably gonna die out here."

He holds out his hand and grins at me.  "Fire."

I snatch the aether lighter from his hand.  "Oh my god," I say.  "Oh my god.  You have a lighter."

"Of course I have a lighter.  I would be stupid to come out here without a lighter."

I scowl at him.

"I mean... I would be stupid to come out here without a friend with a lighter," he corrects quickly.  Another grin.  I forgive him and begin hunting for firewood.  It occurs to me that that's where this all started.

In a short while we manage to put together a small pile of damp wood.  Luckily, the pine needles we heap under and around the branches go up like a torch the second I touch the flame to them.  They're enough to get the other wood going, even though it smokes a lot.  But maybe that's a good thing.  Maybe our friends might be able to see all the smoke.  I carefully avoid acknowledging the thought that any nearby Sentries could see it as well.

I sit there and think of Jonas.  What if...?  No.  No what-ifs.  I need to think of something else.  So I squint at the pine needles for a moment and decide to experiment with the fire.  Some things obviously burn better than others.  I remember the way the Christmas tree in the Outpost went up like a torch.  At the time, I had thought it was all because of the aether lanterns, but now I'm beginning to suspect the tree itself helped.  We may need to make the aether in our lighter go a long way.  So I forage around the area near our campsite, toss some different things into the fire, and watch the way they burn.  Christmas tree is definitely a winner.

"I didn't know you were a pyromaniac," Apollon says, toasting his hands on the fire.

"Guess it comes with the tail."

He gives me a wry grin.  The sight of those dimples makes me want to cry in relief, but I hold it all in.

"Christmas trees are highly flammable," I say in a voice that sounds completely normal, concluding my studies after a short while.  I flop down next to him, conceding to the need to thaw myself out, and just wanting to sit with my friend.  "Do you think anything grows out here that we can eat?"  Neveah taught Apollon a lot about plants.

He shrugs.  "Maybe.  If we can find it under all the snow."

We sigh and fall quiet, soaking in the heat of the fire.  My mind is immediately on Jonas.  Try though I may, I can't make the frightening images stop parading through my overactive imagination.  "Do you think... they're OK?" I finally whisper.

He laughs.  "They're probably better off than us.  They have all the supplies."

It's true.  If nothing else, they could have huddled together under all the sleeping rolls, braving the storm that way.  I should be worried about us, not them.  But maybe it's not so much that I'm worried about Jonas as it is that I'm worried about never seeing him again.  I sigh, and look off into the distance, and consider how to find him.

"We slept a little late," Apollon says, eyeing the sky.  "Look where the sun is.  It's almost noon."

I follow his gaze and nod.  We must have been exhausted when we did finally fall asleep.

"They probably looked for us, didn't find us, and moved on.  Either they think we're dead, or they're going to the only place where we'll know to meet them.  Both ways, that's south.  At least for Jonas it is."

I have trouble imagining Jonas tromping off happily after my apparent demise.  I'd like to think he's a little more torn up than that if he thinks I'm dead.  But then, he does seem to hate me lately.  On a more positive note, maybe he's hopeful that I'm still alive, and he's doing exactly what Apollon said—going where we're going.  To the tower.  That gives me a new reason to get there.  Not just to satisfy some ingrained need.  Not just to save an Outpost.  To find Jonas.  I'm climbing to my feet before I even know it.

Apollon gazes up at me incredulously and doesn't move a muscle.  "Seriously?  I'm barely getting warm."

I sigh and gaze off into the distance, my shoulders slumping.  It is crazy.  We have a fire right now.  We can rest and stay warm.  We can spend another night in this shelter, and be ready to go tomorrow.

But Apollon sighs, climbs to his feet, and kicks snow onto the fire.  "Alright," he says.  "You don't have to look so miserable."

I grin at him and help put out the fire.

Before we make off, he grabs handfuls of pine needles and stuffs them in his pockets.  "Who knows if we'll have them later on."

I scrape sections of sticky bark from a nearby tree—it performed even better than the pine needles in my experiments—and load up my pockets as well.  We don't have much to work with, so we may as well make the most of what's available.  We start off, trudging through the snow, and though I'm tired, stressed, and hungry, it seems easier than before.  We've no heavy packs to carry, and though I'm longing for Jonas, his presence was also a heavy burden.  As we set out on our journey without him, the distance between us and the tower seems far less daunting than it did before.

Chapter 16:  Eden and Apollon

The first night was the hardest.  No blankets.  An icy wind that constantly blew away the heat of the fire.  We had to get creative with our shelter-building, and still, we shivered straight through the night, worrying that we might not make it until daylight.  The second night was uncomfortable, but better.  We've been walking for three days, now, without much to eat, but Apollon and I are pretty used to that.  We've managed to forage a bit—a few handfuls of cranberries, and some grass seed, which tasted like... well... grass.  Apollon assured me that this particular grass seed wouldn't kill me, but the lingering doubt made it hard to choke down.  It's evening again, and we've found a small cave to shelter in.  Better than that, we've got a nice fire going and a handful of tubers to roast.  Our spirits are good—bolstered by the thought of rest and food—but the day has already been pleasant because we get along well.  Still.  Despite everything.  Without the others, we're talking and laughing.  Enjoying the strangeness of the landscape.  Marveling over the things we've never seen before.  It feels odd and out of place that we’re lost in the wilderness and simultaneously enjoying ourselves.  And to be sure, the fear of our situation is still there, lying underneath the surface.  But we push it away, determined to survive, and focus on the things that will keep us going.  For me, it’s companionship.  Gratefulness for my friend.  I relish the chatter, and the occasional stretches of comfortable silence in between.  Every time I think the wilderness is too vast, too wide, Apollon has some quote from some book, perfectly relevant, bolstering my spirits.  We avoid talking about recent history.  All those questions go unanswered.  He chats about the stories he's read, and I pummel him with a thousand questions.  He answers them as best he can.  Some of the time, I think he makes the answers up.

Now, at the end of the day, you'd think we'd be tired of talking, but we sit across the fire, bantering, chuckling as we turn our tubers slowly on sticks.  The smell coming off of them is mouthwatering—nothing like grass—and inside I feel like I've let out some long-held-in sigh.  That's when it dawns on me.  I'm happier than I've been in a long time.  I glance up through the flames at Apollon's face.  He's chattering on, oblivious to me.  Just animate and easy and real.  He breaks off, frowning, as his tuber catches fire, retracts his stick and blows hard on his food.  The flames flap and disappear.  He sniffs the tuber.  "Mmm," he says, closing his eyes as the smell hits him.  He bites into it, then jerks backward, his hand flying to his mouth, where he catches the quickly ejected bite.  "Holy crap!"  His words are muffled through his fingers.  "I just burnt the shit out of my tongue!"

I'm holding my belly laughing and rolling sideways on the cave floor.  I try to keep myself upright with my one elbow, but I just can't seem to stop laughing.  I suddenly notice that I've dipped my own tuber into the flame line.  "Arg!" I jerk it out and mimic Apollon's flame-quenching routine, but wisely, I don't bite into it yet.  I take a few deep breaths to steady myself and throw him a look.  "You made my potato-thing catch on fire, you big oaf."

"Ha!" he says.  "That's what you get for laughing at my distress."

But that just makes me start laughing again.  And even though he tries to scowl at me, pretty soon he's laughing, too.  It takes a long time before our giggles die down.

"I think we might be cracking up," he finally manages as he starts in on his tuber, carefully this time.  "Lack of food.  Exhaustion.  I just don't remember you being this funny."

"Maybe it's the grass," I suggest.

He counters with "Grass doesn't make you funnier."

We snicker between bites.

"It's not the food," I finally say, trying to be serious.  "I get grumpy when I'm starving."

"Me too."

For the briefest moment my mind touches a time not too long ago, when we were both truly in danger of starvation.  The darkness and confusion of that time seems so far away from this place, where I feel strangely safe and free.  But the memory is enough to sober me for real.  Apollon must be feeling the same, because he shakes himself before he smiles at me.  The smile is much more subdued than it has been.

I take another bite of my tuber, savoring it because I know it will be gone too quickly.

"We need to hunt something," Apollon says, his voice also coming down to reality.  "Something big.  And juicy."

"I would settle for something small and juicy," I say.  "But good luck with that.  We don't have a gun."

He squints at me for a moment, then says, "We have knives."

I consider the possibility of getting close enough to something to stick it with a knife.  We've seen a couple of small animals and even a deer, but they've run away upon our attempts to approach.  "I don't think we're going to kill anything," I say.  "So we better forage what we can."

"We just need some luck," Apollon insists, perhaps spurred onward by his growling stomach.  "You can do it.  I know you can."

"Me?" I scoff.  "What about you?"

"I can't really throw a knife.  I mean, I'm not very accurate."

I stare at him.  I hadn't considered throwing.  Probably because I'd sooner hit the moon than something five feet in front of me.  I start to shake my head.

"You know how to throw," Apollon presses.  "I've seen you."

Now I squint at him.

"On the road," he says.  "You nailed that car right in the windshield.  And it was a solid throw, or it never would have broken."

Wide-eyed, I stare into the fire.  Maybe I do know how to throw a knife.  Maybe, in some subconscious area of my mind.  But could I do it at will?  Or was it all just some freak coincidence?  I stare into the coals for a long time, then I say, "I don't know.  Maybe I just got lucky."

He shrugs.  "Maybe."  But I haven't convinced him of anything.

I finish eating my tuber in silence, considering the ramifications.  Is knife-throwing a common skill?  What does that mean about me, about my past, if it is some hidden facet of my old life?

Of course, thinking about my old life inevitably leads in one direction.  "You're not worried about Jonas at all?" I ask, needing to say something before I get lost in those thoughts.  "Not even a little bit?"

"Nah," Apollon answers, a bit too quickly.  I meet his eyes.  He offers a sheepish smile.  "I'm worried about Jacob and Taylor, though.  Jonas wasn't very happy about going on a hike with them.  What do you think their odds of survival are without us there to protect them?"

I consider.  "...Maybe half?"

Apollon laughs.  "Clearly you don't realize how volatile Jonas has been lately."

My face falls.  I look into the fire.

"Aw," Apollon says, "don't feel bad."

"Why shouldn't I?" I ask.  "It's my fault, right?"

"I really don't think it has much to do with you," he says.  "He's just taking it out on you is all."

Now I look up at him.

"Maybe indirectly," he amends.  "I think all the changes have him thinking about things is all.  You know.  Other things."

As always, Apollon seems reluctant and subdued when referencing Jonas' past.

"You saw how he was the other night," he continues.  "When the Sentries attacked.  I told you he's been like that before.  That doesn't have anything to do with you.  See."

"Sure," I say, but the word comes out so pitifully that there's no way he can't see through it.

He heaves a sigh and shifts his weight.  "Just be patient with him, Eden.  He'll come around.  Eventually."

"I suppose you've known him a long time," I say, wanting to lead myself away from these thoughts.  I grab onto the first thing I think of to distract myself.  "How did you guys meet, anyway?"

"Running for our lives," he says, with a little laugh.

Now I'm curious.  I raise my eyebrows and wait.

Apollon only hesitates briefly.  "We were both dropped the same day.  In Outpost One.  Different drop zones, though.  You know how it is.  You wake up totally confused.  Not knowing where you are, or why you're there.  Instinct kicks in.  Fear."

I nod quietly, remembering the day I woke up in Outpost Three.  Hiding in a pile of trash.  Disguising myself as a poxy old woman.

"One is way worse than Three," Apollon continues.  "There are two groups of slavers there, and they're majorly competitive.  They're on the drop zones like nothing.  So practically the moment I woke up, I was running from them."  He pauses, his eyes wide, like he's somewhere else, then shakes his head and continues.  "I was running one way, and meanwhile, Jonas was running the other way.  Same deal.  So I come around a corner and see him running toward me.  He's wearing the brown shift, too, and by then my world memories have opened, so I recognize what's going on.  We look at each other.  We look past each other.  And both ways, all these guys are on our heels.  'C'mon', he says, and we take the side route.  And from that moment, we're a team."

"...Wow."  I can't help but feel a little twinge of jealousy when I remember how incredibly lonely my first days were.  I push it away.  "How did you escape?"

"Rooftop," he says.  "We got around a corner, he gave me a boost, and I pulled him up.  It was tall.  Neither of us would ever have got up there on our own.  Then we laid flat and stayed quiet while all the slavers ran by.  And we stayed on those damned rooftops pretty much until we got out of Outpost One."

"Wow," I say again.  "How long did it take you to get out?"

"Something like a month," he laughs.

"And you were on the rooftops that whole time?"

He nods.

"What did you eat?"

Now a grin breaks across his face.  "Something that rhymes with rats," he says, and reaches across with his tuber stick to poke me.

I laugh and push it away.  "Hey, it's readily available protein," I say.  "I have yet to eat cat, though.  I don't know if I could do it.  They're awful cute."

"Cute and juicy," Apollon declares.  "If I gave you a cat right now, I bet you'd eat it."

"Depends on the cat," I say.  "If it was a nice one, I might consider making you into discount sausage first."

"A lot of people have wanted to make me into discount sausage, and it hasn't happened yet," he says haughtily, eyes half closed.  He looks a bit like a cat.

"That's because Jonas has always been there to watch your back," I counter.  Before I can make more humor out of my threat, I find myself heaving a big sigh.

Apollon studies me thoughtfully.

I pick up my tuber stick and thrust the end into the fire, watching it ignite.

"You miss him."

I open my mouth to deny it, but then, before I can, I'm wondering what's the point.  Apollon has a pretty good idea that I have a thing for Jonas.  He just doesn't understand the extent of it.  The complications.  And he is Jonas' closest friend.  Maybe coming clean with him will make things somehow easier.  If nothing else, I can unburden myself for one moment.  Of course, it's not really that simple, because, even though I want to talk about Jonas, I'm not ready to say anything about the important part—the part that binds us together long before either of us woke up with marks on our foreheads.

So I nod and quietly say, "I do.  I miss him."  But I know that whatever I tell Apollon, it will only be half of the truth.

"Yeah?"  He’s giving me an opening if I want it.

"I miss him.  Not just since the storm."  My words coming freely as soon as I allow them.  "Since everything.  He's felt so far away.  And... and we were close.  Kind of.  In a way, I mean."  I feel myself coloring red, because I know, really, that I don't know Jonas that well.  I push on, quickly.  "He kissed me," I say.  "Once.  It was right before....  Right before...." My throat closes on the word, and when it comes out, it's only a harsh squeak.  "Oscar."  I swallow.  Twice.  Blink away tears.  I look away and continue blinking until the tears dissipate.  "Everything was just so messed up."

Apollon has gone quiet, and when I look at him, he's staring down into his lap.  I shouldn't have brought up Oscar.  Apollon loved him, too.  Maybe even more than I did.  Longer than I did, at least.

He clears his throat and finds my face.  "It's probably better, Eden," he says.  "...I don't want to intrude in whatever, but I feel like I should tell you.  You're my friend.  I don't want you to get hurt."

My eyes scan his.  "What do you mean?"

"I mean...."  He hesitates.  "I mean Jonas.  I get why you like him.  I mean, obviously, he's my friend, too.  He's great.  But... you really don't want to get mixed up with him.  Don't let yourself fall for him, I mean.  Nothing good could come of it.  He'll break your heart."

I stare at him open-mouthed, the flames of the fire flickering between us.  I don't know what to say.  I start to shake my head uncertainly.

"Really," he says, his voice suddenly steady.  "Just don't, OK?  Promise me."

"Promise you?" I sputter.

Now he laughs.  "Promise me," he says again.  Then he revises.  "Try."

I shake my head slowly, laughing, feeling suddenly weird and dizzy.  What does he mean that Jonas will break my heart?  When it comes down to it, he knows Jonas so much better than I do.  Shouldn't I trust his judgment?  I want to ask more, but before I can, he moves on.

"What about Matt?" he says, as if this is perfectly acceptable conversation.  As if a lot of things that happened never actually happened.  I can hardly believe he’s said it.

"Matt?" I ask weakly.

He beams another of his grins at me.  "I get the feeling that you weren't entirely put off by his attention."

I swallow hard, then feeling half-drunk, I admit, "I kinda like Matt."

"Aha," he says.  "I knew it."

I shake my head.  "It's hard not to like Matt.  But it doesn't matter.  I know better."

His eyes narrow on me.  "What's wrong with Matt?" he asks, like he couldn't give a million reasons himself.

Briefly, I suspect he’s testing me.  I expect my answer to come out sarcastically in response to that suspicion, but instead, it's very serious.  "He kills people."

Apollon looks at me for a long time.  Then he says, quietly, "So do I."

And it hits me hard in the face.  I’m not just implicated.  I’m a killer.  I shot Grey's men in a fire-fight.  I enabled Matt to reprogram the Sentries that have undoubtedly killed more.  I may as well have put the gun in Matt's hand when he executed those seven people.  I may as well have shot them myself.  The memory of our bloody footprints floods through my brain.  All of that is on me.  I'm a killer.

Apollon must see the blood draining from my face.  "What do you do when it's you or them?  You kill.  Or you die.  Neither of us are dead yet."

I shake my head.  "I don't want to be a killer," I whisper.  But it does not change the fact that I am.  I think of the death I have seen.  I have caused.  The pool of frozen blood in front of the Rustler.  Elaina Sumter's pretty face scrunched up in despair, staring down the barrel of a gun.  "Apollon," I choke out, unable to hold the thoughts back any longer, "I never meant for it to happen.  Elaina...."  I can't get a single word more through my throat.  I'm suddenly certain that he's hiding his pain.  That he must hate me for what I could not stop.

But he just shakes his head, looking uncomfortable.  "Really, Eden."

"It's my fault."  My words sound like a demand.  "Why don't you hate me?"

"Because I don't," he snaps.  "You're my friend, OK?  I don't hate you."

"Elaina was your friend," I say.  "She was more.  You knew her better than you let on."

"Well, you're my family."  He fixes me with a serious gaze.

We stare at each other in the flickering light of the cavern.  The gift of his words sinks in.  We’re family.  I have a family.  That bond goes beyond the friendship I was worried about.  There are a few things in this fragile world that cannot be broken.

Apollon lets out a long sigh, then admits, "It was tragic.  I'll miss her.  I mean, she was really good in bed.  But things happen and you can't change them.  You just move on."

My mouth drops open.  "That might be the most chauvinistic thing I've ever heard you say."

He snorts.  "I'm sure it's not."

And then we're laughing again, even though it's tainted by uncertainty and guilt.  When it dies down, Apollon gazes at the floor just a little too long before smiling again.  He's not really OK, but I think he has truly forgiven me.  “Elaina was a shark,” he finally says.  “She knew exactly how to use people to get what she wanted.  You think her dad was cannibalistic?  At any rate, they had hopes that Matt’s defeat would spell more power for the Sumter family.”  Apollon pauses to shrug.  “It was a stupid move on their part, but we weren’t about to dissuade them when we needed all the help we could get.  I didn’t give a damn that Elaina’s ultimate goals were different than mine.  She was a means to an end, and I was the same for her.  She knew exactly what risks she was taking.  Just because I liked her doesn’t change that.”

For a long time I consider his words.  Despite all his talk of Elaina’s tougher qualities, I hear the current underneath: Apollon admired her, if nothing else.  Her loss has brought my friend pain.  "I'm sorry." I need to tell him this.  "I'm sorry anyway.  Even if you don't hate me.  I'm still sorry."

He gives me a little smile, though it looks a touch sad.  "I'm sorry it came to that," he says.  "But you made the right choices.  Maybe not everybody sees that, but you did."

My eyes dart to his face, searching for the understanding that I hear in his voice.  I want so badly to believe that he truly feels the way he sounds.  To know that our bond is not sheer dedication, but shared perception.

He looks over and meets my gaze, and his face grows serious.  There’s a darkness that comes over it quite suddenly.  He hesitates, then he says, “I’ve done some horrible things, Eden.  Things that had to be done.  At the time, they seemed the only thing to do.  Looking back… wanting to change them now… it doesn’t change how they were at the time.”

My brow furrows as I register the way his voice is not quite steady.  “What are you talking about, Apollon?” I whisper.  “You haven’t done anything even close to what I did....”

He tosses his head back and laughs, but there is no humor in it.  Just bitterness, regret.  “You want to know what I was up to during the battle?”

I nod, but I’m not sure I do.

He leans in, amusement coloring his face, a ruse to cover what he’s really feeling.  “Are you sure?”  The words sound like a warning.

My stomach turns over as I realize that he is going to tell me something truly unpleasant.  Nonetheless, I have to hear it.  I nod again solemnly.

My friend sighs and looks away.  Perhaps he was really hoping he wouldn’t have to tell me.  But I can see the part of him dying to unburden his soul.  We pass a long time without talking before he finally begins.

“We were sure Grey was going to win,” he says quietly, his voice low and dark.  “We all knew it would be horrible if he did, but there didn’t seem to be any other choice.  The reality was, you and Miranda would not be safe.  No one would, but especially not you.”

He stops, and the memories of it sink in.  I feel the reality of our despair.  Of knowing that our future would consist of hiding, running.

“We had to think of a way to weaken him,” Apollon says.  “A way to strike at his power without drawing attention to ourselves.  Enough to give us a chance to get away while his focus was elsewhere.”

I nod, trying to consider what Apollon could possibly do to strike at a force like Grey.

“We couldn’t tell you, Eden,” he says.  “Knowing anything would have put you in even greater danger, if things went wrong.  The plan was so far from perfect, but we knew we had to do something.  So we positioned ourselves on his side.  True, his trust was quite limited, but it was enough.  When his forces broke into the Outpost, I connected with one of his men.  I lured him into an alley.  Neveah conked him over the head for me from behind.  Then we dragged him down into the tunnels.

My eyes go wide at the image of gentle Neveah hitting anyone over the head.  I guess war changes us all.  “You told Neveah?”

He shrugs.  “It was a last-minute adaptation.  Jonas had to be elsewhere.”

I nod, frowning.  Everything runs through my mind in a blur of images.

“We took Grey’s guy to Matt’s VR machine,” Apollon says.  Before I can ask the question, he supplies, “You’d be surprised what we were able to learn with all our contacts in the Outpost.”  He flashes a quick grin before his face becomes somber again.  “A little messing around with some brain-scrambling, and we had a willing puppet.”

I close my eyes against the memory of my self-inflicted ordeal in the VR machine.  Particularly against the memory of lying smashed on the pavement after falling from the sky, feeling every broken bone in my body as if it were real.

“After that,” Apollon continues, “it was simply a matter of giving him his instructions and making sure he got out of the Outpost alive.  I left Neveah in the tunnels, because it was safer, and I went with the guy until we were safely outside the wall.  Unfortunately, Grey’s men were fleeing, then, and I got caught up with them.  I had to go along.  It wasn’t easy to separate myself from them on the road, but eventually I managed to slip away.  I walked back to the Outpost… slowly.  I wasn’t sure what I would find there, either.  Whether it would be safe.  I was having a peek from the distance when the Sentry snatched me up.”

I nod, but I’m squinting at him, too.  That brings us back to the point where our paths intersected once again.  But I still don’t understand.  I frown.  “So… what was the thing with the guy?” I ask.  “What did you tell him to do?”

Apollon’s eyes freeze on mine for a second before he looks down.  For a moment, I think he’s not going to tell me the rest.  But then he does.  His voice is hoarse, choked out the best he can.  “I gave him one of the vials.”

I stare at him and stare at him.  “One of the vials,” I finally manage.  “You had him release the plague in Outpost Two.”  The weight of it falls over us.

After a long silence, Apollon rubs his eyes and looks away.  “It’s not really the plague,” he murmurs.  “But yeah.  That’s what I did.  See.  I make you look like a virgin princess.”

My eyes flicker to him, drawn to the attempt at humor in all this seriousness.  I try out a smile.  It’s uncertain, tentative, but it’s there.  Somehow, despite the gravity of the situation, I feel a new kind of kindredness growing between us.  We’ve both done horrible things.  Our actions have cost lives.  We both carry the same burden of guilt, and though it was born out of the need to protect, it does not leave us any less stained.  Though I shouldn’t be, I’m deeply grateful that I am not alone in my flaws.  That Apollon can truly understand me, and I can truly understand him.

He looks up now, and he sees it in me.  I just know.  And he, too, is grateful.

A sudden rush of affection overwhelms me.  I want to hug him, but I stay where I am.  I poke the coals with my stick and relax, letting a long sigh escape me.  I’m not alone.  I haven’t lost Apollon.  Somehow, despite all the tests, our bond has grown even stronger.

***

We're tromping through the snow, and the wind is whipping straight at us.  It's cold enough to shut us both up for once, but that works to our advantage.  We stop suddenly.  In front of us, the rabbit freezes, hiding against a bush as if we won't see it in plain sight.  But I'm as startled as it is.

Apollon nudges me surreptitiously with his elbow while it watches us with one round eye. I have to try.  I wiggle my fingers gently out of my glove and reach slowly, slowly for my knife, wondering how in the hell I'm going to hit this thing.  My mouth waters at the thought of food.  My heart races.  My mind is a mad dash searching for the knowledge and skill that can tip the odds of our survival.  But in my stomach, doubt is a powerful force of erosion.  I feel my fingers trembling before I can even get to my knife.  I fumble as I try to grasp it.  My movement is too much for the rabbit.  It bolts.

And then it falls.  My blade sticks out of its side, blood flowing freely into the snow.

"HahaHA!" Apollon laughs in delight, heading for our prey.  Only now am I registering the movement of my body, the swift, sure trajectory of my arm.  I stare as Apollon plunks my knife from the very dead rabbit.  "I knew you could do it."

I take a moment to quell the shock.  "I killed it, you clean it," I finally say.

"Happily," Apollon agrees, practically bouncing back toward me with the rabbit and my knife.  He's already wiped my blade clean in the snow, and dry on his pants.  He passes it to me, handle first. "I think it's time to build a shelter, anyway."  He glances up at the sky.

I nod without looking.  It's getting colder.  We begin breaking branches off of the nearby bushes, piling them up.  We're getting good at this shelter-building thing, and it hasn't been that long.  We find a low-growing tree nearby and weave in our extra branches until we have a small enclosure.  We pack snow around the branches to make a wall.  On the non-winded side, we leave room for a fire, and in what seems no time at all, we're comparatively cozy, away from the worst of the elements.  I lounge on a bed of leaves and pine needles, watching Apollon, settled in just beyond the fire, skin the rabbit.  In no time, I'm blinking to stay awake.  I decide not to try too hard and allow myself to drift off.

Moments later, I’m awakened by the sound of a shriek and some kind of struggle.  I bolt upright, my body feeling groggy and unable to respond.  I stagger out of the shelter and to my feet.

Apollon is cursing, engaged in some kind of tug-of-war over the rabbit with a whitish creature that looks to be a cross between a dog and a cat.  Hanging on to the rabbit by the ears, Apollon rips it from the mouth of his adversary, swings, and whaps the creature over the head with the rabbit.  It yelps, ducks underneath, grabs some sort of discarded rabbit organ, and runs off into the snow.

"You’d better run!" Apollon hollers after it, brandishing the rabbit.

I collapse into a pile of laughter.  Only then do I begin to wake up and realize I should have helped.  We could have eaten that thing, too.  Which is exactly what Apollon says when he's done grumbling.

"I'm sorry," I say, trying not to laugh anymore.  "I was half asleep."

"No worries," he says, and starts to move back to his skinning spot, but I see that he's rubbing his wrist.

"Are you hurt?" I ask, suddenly somber.

"It bit me."  He sits back down to his work.  "But don't worry.  It's not bad."

I study his back doubtfully, but there's not much we can do, anyway.  I try to take his advice and not worry, spending my energy on building up the fire instead.

Not much later we eat most of the roast rabbit.  We save a small portion for breakfast.  Apollon wraps the guts up in the skin and stashes it in the tree above us.

"Why don't you just let him have it?" I ask as we settle down to sleep.

"Bait," he answers sleepily.  "We can eat again tomorrow."

"You're a genius," I murmur, tucked cozily into his armpit.

"I know," he mumbles, and yawns.

I'm already drifting off, but the thought comes to me suddenly.  "How come this is so much easier?  I mean, shouldn't we be dying out here or something?"

"Don't say that," Apollon says.  "You're gonna get us killed."

I laugh.  "It doesn't really work like that, you know."

"When I'm dying, I'm gonna say 'I told you so.'"

"You better not."

"I will."

"You better not."

"Shut up and go to sleep.  I'm tired."

I yawn and snuggle into his shoulder.  I'm drifting again.  "No dying," I mumble as sleep comes for me.  "It's not allowed."

Chapter 17:  Final Beast

In the morning, Apollon's wrist is red and warm to touch.

"Crap," I say, holding it tight so he can't get away while I rub it clean with snow.

"That's gonna do a lot of good."

"Shut up."

He does, for all of two seconds.  Then he says, "I told you not to say it."

I glare at him.  "This has nothing to do with anything I said.  It happened before I said it anyway, so it couldn't possibly count."

"Sure it could."  He tosses his head to get a strand of golden hair out of his blue eyes.  "It was OK until you said it.  Now it's all messed up."

"It'll be fine," I insist.  "You're not dying."

"Don't be so sure."

I narrow my eyes at him.

He grins.  "'A woman’s arms tried to shield the head of a sleeping man from the jaws of the final beast.'"

"Oh my god."

"Stephen Crane," he offers.

"If I had a rabbit, I would whap you with it."

He pulls his arm away, climbing to his feet.  "And I would bite you," he says.  "And then we'd both be dying, and where would that leave us?"

As we kick snow over the fire, I give him a look, but not a response.  We set off over the endless landscape.

Over the next few days, Apollon's arm gets puffy.  We find a small, withered bunch of some plant that Apollon thinks will help—thank god for Neveah’s training.  But there's not much of it.  The bite doesn't get better, but it doesn't get worse, either.  We need to find civilization and obtain some real medicine, but that's probably still a long way off.  A couple more days, and we're needing to stop more often.  Apollon is dragging, and he's beyond pale.  His face gets hot.  But he insists on pushing on in short stretches.  We’re just coming to the end of one of those stretches, skirting the edge of a frozen lake. He desperately needs to stop to rest, but as we’re about to settle down, we hear the footsteps smashing through the snow toward us.

I don’t need to look to know what it is, but my eyes fly to the Sentry anyway.  The quick glance reveals no gun on its arm.  It’s not ours.  That means it’s tracking us because we’re outside the barrier.  Or because we’ve been marked as criminals from Outpost Three.  Either way, it’s coming to kill us.

I haul Apollon by the arm, but he’s stumbling already.  I pull him for all I’m worth.  He struggles against me.  Rage rises within me.  If he means to sacrifice himself so I can flee, he’s got another thing coming.  I whirl to face the Sentry, myself.  To pull its crystal, even though everything inside me is telling me to run.

“The lake,” Apollon pants, tugging me in that direction.  I realize his plan just in time and rearrange my course, liking his idea better.  We stumble out onto the ice that we previously judged too thin to walk on.  We make it about twenty paces before the Sentry catches up.  It lurches toward us, the sound of metal echoed by the noise of the ice cracking.

“Down!” Apollon says, and we hit the ground, laying flat and spreading ourselves out.

The lake caves suddenly, the robot swallowed by its gaping mouth.  Fangs of ice close in on it, shards pulling in to the undertow.

Apollon and I hang on to the crumbling edge, clamping our eyes against the fate that awaits us.  Water swirls.  Ice cracks and groans, moving beneath us.  We remain afloat on a large piece that disconnects from the main body of the lake.  But we’re alive.  After a long time of panting the panic away, we manage to crawl to safety.

We make camp at the lake’s edge.  Apollon is in bad shape, and the excitement certainly did him no good.  When night falls, I snatch sleep in small doses because I’m busy watching over him, worrying that his grim prophesies could become real.  My fingers gently brush golden hair away from his feverish forehead and I realize that tears are on my cheeks.  I imagine what I will do if I lose him, but there is nothing beyond that idea.  There is no going on without Apollon, who has become my closest friend in all the world.

Late the following morning, Apollon drags himself up and stubbornly pushes onward.  He’s shivering, and sweating, and walking in more of a zigzag than a straight line.  We only stumble through the snow for about an hour before he can’t go on any further.  We stop to build a shelter, and nestled up against the trunk of our tree, where it is protected from the worst of the weather, is a halfway decent patch of Apollon's medicinal plant.  My friend looks relieved and thankful as his eyes fall upon it.

"You know, you really are quite lucky," he murmurs, flopping down as I harvest the usable leaves.  "You would have been very bored going on without me."

I roll my eyes at him, determined not to show how worried I really am.  "I'm not going to let you die, plants or not.  You're getting to the city if I have to haul you there by one ankle."

He laughs.  "I'd like to see that."

"I wouldn't."

We make a poultice of the leaves and he chews some more of them.  He falls asleep and doesn't wake up until the sun is halfway through the sky the next day.  But he's so much better.  And we have some leaves to take with us, too.

"I told you that you weren't going to die," I insist as we continue our journey.

"I'm sure I'll die eventually," he says.  "Maybe fifty years from now.  But I'll remember to tell you I told you so."

"Sure.  You do that.  But you know, I just might die first."

We waltz on through the vast wilderness, always saving some guts for bait every time we make a new kill.  The strategy works well, and we eat meat regularly.  I'm beginning to feel confident with my knife-throwing skills.  We make use of everything we can get, everything we can do.  Slowly, we build up our insulation against the chill by stuffing our coats with fur from animals we've hunted.  Every little bit helps out here.  Neither of us have any idea how to tan the pelts, so we haven't even tried.  But we scrape the fur off of each kill and pack it inside our coats.  It's not the most comfortable, but it's helped.  We can walk longer now before we need to build shelter.  We supplement our hunting by foraging whatever we can, and we don't do bad.  Buoyed by warmth, a decent supply of food, and the medicine, Apollon’s health continues to improve.  Soon the infection seems to be entirely gone.  We only shelter on the coldest days and somehow avoid having much trouble at all.  It really does seem too easy.

Until the wolves.  We hear their yipping first, and stop in our tracks.  We're both unsure what makes that noise.  We stand back to back, unable to tell what direction it's coming from.  It seems to be all around us.  Getting closer.

"Into the tree," Apollon says under his breath.  We take to the nearest pine, scaling it halfway before we pause to look down.  Beneath us, they stare silently at us, at least seven of them.  Maybe more beyond the range of my vision.  Eerie canine statues whose only movement is the dripping of saliva from their working jaws.

"What now?" I ask, hanging on to one side of the trunk with both arms.  Apollon is across from me on the opposite side.  We're both standing on small branches jutting from the main trunk.  The tree is dead, brittle— one in a grey patch of desiccated forest.  My branch feels crackly and tenuous beneath my feet.  I can't imagine that Apollon, twice my size, feels even halfway secure.

"We wait," he says.  "They'll go away eventually, right?"

So we hang on to the trunk for moments or hours.  I lose all sense of time.  My limbs are going numb.  It's getting colder, and the lack of movement doesn't help.  Still the wolves wait.  Some of them simply lay down beneath the tree, conserving their energy for when they will tear us apart.

Across from me, I hear the sound of Apollon's foot slipping on the trunk.

"Don't fall!"

The wolves jump up and renew their focus on us.

"I'm not."  He's maneuvering.  "We need to do something.  They have long attention spans."

"Any ideas?"

"They smelled our bait."  He must be rummaging for the small bit of skin tucked into his coat.  "I'll just give it to them.  Then maybe they'll leave us alone."

A moment later, the package thunks onto the ground below us.  We watch the wolves tear into it.  They finish in a heartbeat, and look up for the main course.

"Great," I say.  "That really put them off."

"It was worth a try.  Any chance you can throw your knife from up here?"

"Sure, if you really don't mind me being the first to die.  I can barely hang on as it is.  I can't feel my fingers."

"Me either.  If only we had a fire."

The comment sinks into the silence.  We're both thinking the same thing.  Fire.  But how can we use it?

Finally, Apollon says, "This is a Christmas tree, right?"

"Oh hell no," I say.  "You can't set our tree on fire.  We're kind of using it."

He hesitates.  "OK."  I hear him moving amongst the branches.

"Apollon?"

A few grunts later, he says, "Yeah?"

"What are you doing?"

"I'm setting that tree on fire."

By ‘that  tree’ I can only assume he means the one that is right next to this  tree on his side.

"You think that's a good idea?" I ask skeptically, sounding a lot like him.

"I'd rather go down in a blaze of glory than as a wolf snack."

I consider.  "It doesn't sound very glorious to me."

The snap of a breaking branch makes me jump.  "Apollon?"  I’m afraid he's about to plummet to his demise and blame me for it.

A few seconds later he says, "I'm OK.  Just needed a branch to reach with."

I scowl and don't reply, suspecting that his pause was for dramatic effect.

The next thing is the unmistakable crackle and snap of fire.  The smell of burning pine blows into my face.  Below us, the wolves whine.  I hear a whoosh as Apollon heaves his burning branch at the neighboring tree.  It lodges into the side branches, teetering, tipping.  There's a few seconds of disappointment, then a big 'whompfff'.  The flames lick upward, and for the briefest moment, it is kind of glorious.

The wolves scatter, then turn back to look.  Sniffing, they dance and whine—curious then fearful.  The flaming tree burns suddenly brighter, and that's it.  They run.

Apollon launches himself from his branch as our tree begins to burn.  He rolls as he hits the snow, then quickly regains his feet.  "Come on!"  He reaches out for me.

I jump into his arms.  Mostly.  He breaks my fall.  We tumble to our knees, then he's dragging me by the arm and we're up and running.  The fire, spreading to the next tree in either direction, is not far behind us.

"Into the wind," Apollon yells, redirecting our course.  We run with the wind smacking us in the face, hoping it will push back the fire, but the wind is changeable today, and the fire sometimes makes huge leaps behind us.  We remain just ahead of it, on the brink of life.  There's no way we're going to make it.  My heart feels like it's about to burst, my leg muscles burning from running against the piled snow.  Brain jolting with every step.  We break through the tree line into another open expanse.  A few yards in, we skid to a halt.

"Careful," Apollon says.  Beneath me, I can feel the difference in our footing.  Ice.  We glance back where the fire pushes the edge, threatening to melt the very ground we’re standing on.  We move away from it, our steps slow and deliberate on ice that feels as if it could break without the fire’s help.  Every inch is treacherous.  We wobble gingerly onward, choosing each step as if it could be our last.  The ice could swallow us at any time, but if we remain where we are, it most certainly will.  The only thing to do is to get to the other side.

The sun has fallen and the wind is picking up.  Here where there are no trees, we're painfully exposed to the devouring cold.  We have to make it across and find shelter, but the tree line is so far away.  Below us, the ice groans.  Apollon and I look at each other.

"I told you so," he says.

"You suck."

He chuckles, and I follow suit.  The fear of dying is so much easier when you can laugh about it.

So we giggle our way slowly across the death course, daring each other, heaving big sighs after every step until finally, nearly an hour later, we emerge on the other side in what must be safety.

Half-frozen, my face stinging from exposure to the cold, I collapse onto the bank of snow and look back the way we came.  Across the expanse of ice, the fire rages on.  I toss Apollon a look.  "And you call me a pyromaniac."

He just smiles.

***

We walk onward for days and days, trekking southward with the hopes that we'll eventually find the city.  According to the map we once had, we can't possibly miss it so long as we're moving south.  A long road bisects the wilderness, running east and west.  So long as we move to the south, we will eventually find the road.  Then we'll have to guess which direction to follow the road, but if we get lucky, we'll find our destination.  And if we get luckier, we'll find our friends, too.

As time pushes onward, I’m worrying more about finding the city than finding our friends.  I've lost track of exactly how many days it has been, but it's probably something like a month from when we first started out.  Anything could have happened to Outpost Three in a month.  Is it even still there?  Panic rises at the thought, but I push it away.

I glance across at Apollon as we walk.  The sun is starting to move toward the horizon, and it's been a cold day.  If it weren’t for the fur we’ve packed inside our coats, we’d really be feeling it right now.

"Ready to stop?" Apollon asks absently, touching his sleeve.  His bite is healing slowly, but sometimes it bothers him.

"Yeah."  We're walking along an embankment in deep forest.  Both of us have been eyeing the terrain, hoping for an easy place to build shelter.  "You?"

"Yeah."  But we keep walking.  The bank looks promising.  It could block out the wind.  But maybe if we go just a little farther we can find an even nicer nook.

I let Apollon worry about that, and I look to my other side, hoping for some newly fallen wood that I won't have to dig out of the snow.  In a moment, I stray a few yards to pick up some small branches.  I still need something more substantial, but what I've found will help to get things going.

"Hey, check this out," Apollon says brightly as I turn back to him.

We've come around a bend in the embankment, and there in its side is a hole.  A little cavern, it looks like.  The perfect place to get out of the weather.

"Awesome."  I head toward Apollon, who is already stooping at the entrance to investigate.  I'm about three feet from him when he starts backpedaling.  From just beyond him comes a low, resonating growl like nothing I have ever heard before.

I drop my sticks.  Apollon is falling backward onto his haunches.  I grab at his arm to help him up even as he twists, gains his feet, and starts running.  I'm right beside him.  Behind us, the roar comes again, angry and demanding.  I don't take the time to look behind me.  I have never run so hard in all my life.

We barrel through the snow, and behind us comes the sound of something following.  Something huge.  I want to scream at Apollon and ask him what kind of monster is after us, but every bit of my effort is put into running.  Behind us comes the sound of it crashing through the trees.

We hit opposite sides of the same huge tree and climb for all we're worth.  Our experience with the wolves taught us how to escape.  I just hope we don't have to start another fire.  We scamper upward as though we were made for climbing.  As though we've had trees in the Outpost to climb all along.  The one we scale is enormous.  My side has better climbing branches.  I'm just ahead of Apollon when I glance down, and the thing—it must be a bear—is right below him.

I shriek to warn him, but he's already stopped, hanging on to the tree for dear life.  He looks down, puts his weight on one foot, and as the bear snaps at him, he kicks it in the snout.  That just makes it mad.  Apollon's mad, too, or desperate.  He hangs on and keeps kicking.  The bear roars and snaps it's teeth, but Apollon is fast.  Each time it tries to get him, he retracts his foot.  The monster tries to swipe at him with a paw that has claws like long knives, but that doesn't work out for it either.  It can't seem to reach above itself, especially not while it’s hanging on to the trunk.

I grab a branch next to me and use my weight to snap it off, lucky that it is dead and breakable.  I swing myself around so I can reach, wrapping my legs about the branch beneath me so I won’t fall.  I thrust my long, jagged stick at the bear, jabbing it in the neck.  Apollon keeps kicking.  The bear is truly annoyed now.

"Can you throw your knife at it?" Apollon shouts at me.

"Not from this angle," I pant between jabbing my stick into the bear's neck and face.  I’m half-falling out of the tree as it is, clinging to life with one arm and my legs.

Apollon curses under his breath as the bear almost succeeds in its latest attempt for his leg.  My friend is getting tired, his hold on the trunk slipping.  If I don’t do something about it quickly, he’s going to lose that leg, or worse.  I need to hit the bear harder, but I can only just reach.  I need to be closer.

The creature roars and snarls.  Apollon kicks it.  It opens its mouth to lunge for him.

I take my arm from the tree, grab my stick with both hands, and aim for the bear’s open mouth.  I topple toward it, only my legs hanging on.  The stick jams into the open jaws and throat.  The bear’s head jerks back, coughing, gagging.  I’m upside down, swinging from my branch by my legs, exposed to its next attack.  But the bear has had enough.  It withdraws, backing down the tree trunk.

Panting, we watch it grumble to itself and begin to move away.  It sneezes twice.  Then it disappears into the woods.

For a long moment, both of us try to regain our breath.  Blood swirls in my head as I look at the whole world from way up high and upside down.  I allow my arms to hang, but I don’t let go of my stick.

"Oh my god," I finally say, my voice sounding weird from my body being inverted.  "Who knew that bears could climb trees."

"No shit."  Apollon’s already on his way to pull me up.  He hauls me back onto the safety of the branch, gives me a squeeze, then moves away to a little nook in between two large limbs where he collapses into a pile of relief.  "That was close."

"Too close," I agree, getting my arms around the main trunk once again.  I hug it like it’s my best friend, propping my stick against another branch.  "We've been chased by Sentries, wolves, and bears.  What next?  Aliens?"

"Probably."  Apollon doesn’t sound too happy about it.

We fall quiet for another long stretch.

“Thank you,” he says in a voice that is barely there.

I duck my head sideways to be able to see him around a branch, and we share a smile.

"How long do you think we need to stay up here?" he finally asks.

"Like... forever," I say.  "I don't want to go back down there."

"Me either."

But it's starting to get dark now.  We need to get down and move as far away from here as we can.  I don't know if bears hunt during the day or at night, but I really don't like the idea of being anywhere near its territory when complete darkness descends on these woods.  Of course, considering climbing down, I wonder if the bear has really gone away, or if it’s just hiding out of sight, waiting for us to be stupid.

I readjust myself on the branch, get to my feet, and begin climbing higher.  "I'm just going to see if I see it anywhere."

Apollon groans.  Perhaps he hadn't considered the possibility that it was still there.

But as I emerge into open sky and gaze out over the tree tops, I forget the bear.  The sun is sinking, leaving a wash of red across the western sky.  And rising through the red is a vertical streak of grey.  I squint and I can just see a tiny orange sparkle below it along the horizon.  "Fire," The words are knocked out of me, leaving me breathless.  "A campfire."

"What?"  I can hear Apollon leaping up from his reclining position.  "Are you serious?"

"No, I just made that up to annoy you.  Of course I'm serious."

"Can you see anything else?"

I glance down.  His face is tilted up to me, eyes wide and hopeful.  I squint at the orange fleck a little longer, then shake my head.  "No.".  I point.  "It's that way.  West."

"Alright.”  He sounds a little breathless, too.  "Let's go."

I have no idea how far away it might be.  We could be walking straight through the night for all I know.  But neither of us are going to stop until we get there.  I prepare to climb down, glancing around me for the best handholds.  For the best places to put my feet.  That's when I hear, very faintly, another noise.  I freeze and listen.  It's like the rush of something.  Water?  No.  A motor.  Very far away.  I turn and check around me, and I see another light moving.  The tiniest hint of a car in the distance.  There's a road, probably further off than the fire and in the opposite direction.  I consider.  It's to our east, not our south.  That means it is probably the north-south road that will eventually intersect with the road we've been waiting to run into.  That means that if we head south and west, we should get to the city.  I'm still pondering this, and about to open my mouth to tell Apollon what I've figured out, when I see something else.  A tiny silver glimmer.  I peer into the swelling darkness and realize it is not on the road, but near it.  I watch.  The silver patch separates into two.  It's moving.  Not exactly toward us.  The trajectory is slightly north of us.  Almost exactly on course for the campfire.

"Go!" I shriek at Apollon, scrambling down the tree so fast that I almost fall.  I slide a few feet, scraping my belly, but I catch hold and keep going.  He starts climbing down as he sees my panic, but he's clearly baffled.  I almost overtake him.  We hit the ground at the same time.

"What the—" he begins, but I grab him and start running toward the west.  "Run," I say as we scramble through the dark forest.  "Sentries!  Run!"

Apollon shuts up and runs.

Under the cover of the trees, the darkness is thicker, and my eyes have not yet adjusted.  I nearly plant my face in a tree trunk, but Apollon yanks me sideways at the last instant.  I stumble and regain my path.  We dart through the maze of trunks and bushes, jumping fallen logs, slipping on icy patches, but never, never stopping.

"They saw us?" Apollon finally chokes out as we run.

"Not us!"  My eyes are wide with fear.  Our friends are almost within our reach, but they have no idea what nightmare is coming.

He sucks in his breath as he comprehends, runs harder.  I push my body to keep up with him.

It must be a couple of miles.  It seems like we are running forever.  I would have collapsed by now, but the sheer jolt of adrenaline keeps me going beyond what I could ever do if I wasn't frightened to the absolute depths of my core.

Chapter 18:  Ruins

We come through some trees and I can see the campfire ahead of us.  I have no idea how quickly the Sentries are moving.  We had a good lead on them, but they don't tire the way we do, and they’re much faster at full speed.  I try to calm my racing thoughts.  So long as we reach our friends first and warn them, we'll be OK.  We know how to yank crystals now.  The Sentries are not as much of a threat as they used to be.

I half-run, half-stagger toward the glow of the fire.  Its swirling orange radiance is surreal against the blackening backdrop of the world.  The idea of seeing Jonas again—the joy of finding him—competes with the fear in my belly.  Quickly following is a surge of doubt.  What if it's not our friends at all?  But then, who else could it possibly be?

Apollon must share my doubt.  As we approach, he grabs me by the arm and stops.  We stand a small distance off, silently peering toward the fire.

But we've already made some noise.  A tall body next to the fire raises to its feet, its hand going to its belt for a weapon.  It looks in our direction, trying to pierce the cover of darkness.  Trying to see what and where we are.

"Thank god," Apollon gushes under his breath.  The figure silhouetted in firelight jerks a little and zeroes in on us.

"Apollon?"  There is both relief and trepidation in Jonas’ voice.  He paces toward us.  "Eden?  Is Eden with you?" he asks into the darkness.  I can hear the worry in his voice.  Whatever our differences, I want to run to him and hug him.

Beyond him, by the fire, Jacob and Taylor are scrambling to their feet.

"No time to talk," Apollon says, moving to meet Jonas halfway.  "Sentries."

"Let's get ready to yank crystals," I pant, trying to catch at least some of my breath.  My head is swirling with exertion.  I bend over and place my hands on my knees for just a second.

Jonas hesitates, his head turned toward me.  I can't see his face in this darkness, and he can't see mine.  "No.  Someone could get hurt.  It'll be better to hide."

"That would be great," Apollon says, also still trying to catch his breath.  "But I don't think there's anywhere to hide from a Sentry out here.  I, for one, am not going into any more caves."

"C'mon." Jonas strides back to the campfire and picks up his pack.  Jacob and Taylor are already shrugging theirs on.  Mine is sitting by the fire, just waiting for me.  It surprises me that they didn't leave it behind.  I grab it up, but I'm not sure I'm going to make it very far, even before I take up the heavy load.

"It's just right here." Jonas grabs me by the elbow and tugs me forward.  He must see how I'm stumbling like a drunk under this weight.

"What is?" Apollon asks.  Jacob and Taylor are moving off ahead of us, their steps quick but evenly measured.

"We were going to explore it in the morning," Jonas says.  "When we found it, we decided to camp here.  It looks like it used to be a small city."

Neither Apollon or I reply.  We're gawking into the darkness at the black shapes that begin to loom.  We move in between them, into the quiet grave of a dwelling-place.  I feel like I'm disturbing something that has not been touched in a long time.

"If people once lived here, there has to be an underground," Jonas says.  "Some kind of basement or something.  Maybe not a tunnel, but hopefully enough that the scanners will miss us."

We scour through the buildings, and within a moment we find an outside door that must lead into a cellar.  Jacob pries it open. The squeal of the ancient rusted hinge flits away through the ruins.

Apollon and I exchange uneasy glances in the wan moonlight.

"Aliens," he whispers, and makes a face.

I punch him in the side.  Then I move past Jonas, climbing in after Jacob and Taylor.  "I'll take aliens over bears," I mutter as I go.

Jonas, last in, eases the trap door closed behind us.  We stumble in pitch blackness to what seems like the far corner of the cellar.  Huddling down against a cold concrete wall, I turn and try to make out my friends in the darkness.  An arm brushes mine as someone leans against the wall beside me.

"How will we even know if they come?" I whisper.  "Or when they're gone?"

"They're here," Jonas answers, his whisper just a trail of breath in the musty air.  "I could see the fire, still.  Something blocked out its light as I was closing the door."

No one replies.  We are suddenly frozen.  We hardly dare to breathe as we wait for hours in the darkness.

***

There is the smallest crack of light coming through the trap door.  It reminds me of being in the tunnels under Outpost Three.  Reminds me of the first time I was in them.  I ran to find a way out.  I was lost.  Panicked.  And then, there was this little strip of light from above.  Now, I shrug my back away from the frozen wall, a tiny movement that doesn't make any noise.  I can't see much.  I think the others are still dozing.  The floor I'm sitting on is so cold that it feels wet.  I have to check my pant legs with my fingers to be sure it's not water.  It's not.  Just cold.  I want to get out of here—out of this hole.  I've been sitting here looking at the light, wondering if we should dare to open that door.  The Sentries could be waiting just above.  We're not going to get out without making some noise.  If they're anywhere nearby, it will draw them to us.  We should have just stood our ground and yanked out their crystals in the first place.  It would have all been done by now.

"Do you think it's safe?" Taylor's voice breaks through the silence abruptly, though it is pitched low and soft.  I'm not sure who he's talking to.

A rustle of movement occurs off to my side.  "Only one way to find out," says Apollon.

Next to me, a soft laugh.  Jonas.  My heart starts racing.  As much to distract myself from the effects of his presence as anything else, I shove to my feet and stiffly shoulder my pack.  The others grunt and grumble as they follow my lead.

But Apollon is at the trap door before me.  He has his knife out, and he's ready.  Realizing my own stupidity, I drop my pack just under our exit and draw my own knife.  If the Sentries are there, we'll need to be quick about disabling them.  We don't need any more accidents.

Apollon throws the door open all at once, and we shrink from the onslaught of daylight.  I feel like some creature from the netherworld emerging into reality.  Blinded by light, blasted by air and sunshine.  It's like being born.

Not a noise from above answers the creak and bang of our trap door.  Just silence.  We listen for a moment and hear nothing except the distant twittering of some bird.

Apollon heaves a sigh and climbs up.  I follow on his heels.  We stand back to back, circling, taking everything in.  Buildings stretch away from us in all directions, crumbling, but somehow beautiful.  Nothing stirs.  A blanket of snow covers most of it.  It's been here a while, not fresh.  It is melting in spots.  Softly curved corners reveal bits of wall, and brick, and wood.  Tiny three-pronged marks wander in little circles nearby, barely sinking into the snow's surface.  The only other tracks are ours.  Do the Sentries rely so heavily on their scanners that they missed our tracks entirely?

My pack launches into the snow beside me.  Jonas follows, dragging his own by one strap.  He has a good look around, then puts his knife away.  Jacob and Taylor come up behind him.

"Can you believe this?" Taylor asks, having a look at the strange and quiet world around us.

I feel suddenly shaken.  "This isn't the city, is it?  Has something happened to it?"

"Doubtful," Jonas says.  "But people obviously lived here once.  Probably before the Turn."

I grab my pack and start walking, fascinated by the maze of dwellings.  Most of the walls are only partial now.  Roofs are long-since caved in.  Dried leaves and brown vines cling to surfaces here and there.  In the spring and summer, the walls must be green, flowering.  It must be beautiful.

"Think we should move in?" Apollon asks, catching up to my side.  He nudges me with his elbow, then points.  "That'll be my house."  The indicated structure is built of stone, looming upward at least two levels into the sky.  "You can live next door."

"What?"  I say.  "That?"  The only "next door" I see is a broken pile of scrap that I'd probably kill myself trying to climb into.

He just laughs.  We turn and glance behind us, where the others are slowly following.  Jonas is eyeing us as he walks.

Apollon opens his mouth to say something to them, but there's a noise from somewhere across the ruins.  A thunk of metal.  It could be anything.  A piece of scrap an animal knocked over, the buildings settling.  But we all freeze.  We listen.  Then Jonas nods onward, and we start walking quickly without a word.  As interesting as it might be to explore this place, it's not safe here.  Besides, we have a tower to get to.  We head southward, out of the ruins.  Once we enter the cover of the forest, we move even quicker.  None of us talk.  We're too busy listening for signs of pursuit.  Our journey is quiet and tense, the only sounds the squeak of our boots against the snow.

As I struggle onward under the weight of my pack, I consider the change in the feel of our journey.  I thought I would be overjoyed to find our friends, but I'm not.  Not really.  There's a quiet tension between us now, like a thick wire that binds us in a group, but also holds us apart.  There are walls and walls.  The laughter that followed me and Apollon all this time is now safely stowed away.  It doesn't have a place here.  And in the quiet, there are many things to think about that I previously let myself forget.

I'm deep in these thoughts, soaked in my worry, body tense in nervous anticipation.  I march on, grinding my teeth, forcing each breath from my nose.  My vision blends into the snow-smeared glare, and I am not really seeing at all.  Everything is inside.

We march on into the sinking twilight, determined to pass as much terrain as possible before stopping, to put some distance between us and the Sentries.  I can feel that we are just about to stop.  The others seem restless under their packs.  Their faces in the dusk are filled with weary shadow.  We're even slowing, tightening our group, when we notice the glow in the sky ahead.

We stand and stare off at the horizon.  None of us say anything.  We're all exhausted.  And there is only one thing this can be.  Minneapolis.

Jonas drops his pack.  That's that.  We're staying.  I glance around and find that the clearing we're in will make an OK campsite, though Apollon and I would probably have picked something more sheltered.  As we unroll sleeping packs and share out food—luxuries I'm no longer used to—we debate the wisdom or foolishness of having a campfire.  The night is cold—colder than last—and I'd rather not go without one.  Jacob insists that the Sentry problem is worse than a little cold.

"It's not just the cold," I say, biting off a piece of dried meat.  "It's the animals.  They don't like the fire."

Jacob frowns at me.  "Animals?  Why, what did you see out there?"

"All kinds of stuff.  Didn’t you?" Apollon laughs.  "Couldn't say what all of it was, but I think it was a fox that bit me."

"A fox," I chime in.  "Is that  what a fox is?"

"Sure," Apollon answers confidently.

But Taylor's talking over us.  "Something bit you?"

Apollon pulls up his sleeve and shows off his wound.  "It was Eden's fault."

"Wha—?"  I pluck a pinecone off a nearby branch and throw it at him.

He shrugs away as it bounces off his shoulder.  "It was pretty bold," he continues, ignoring me.  "The fox.  But it's the wolves I'd be more worried about."

"You saw wolves?" Jonas asks softly.  He's standing arms-crossed, considering.

"We were chased by them," Apollon explains.  "Right up a tree.  We had to set it on fire to scare the wolves away.  And then we had to outrun the fire."

Taylor's mouth is open in disbelief.

His brother, however, is still stuck on the wolves.  "You were actually chased by wolves…"

"Yep."  Apollon nods.

"And a bear," we both add at the same time.

"A bear," says Taylor.

"The bear was probably the worst of it," Apollon says, looking at me.  "Wouldn't you say?"

"Definitely the worst," I agree.  "Who knew they could climb trees."

Apollon laughs, rolling his eyes.  "Who knew."

"...Bears can climb trees?" asks Jacob, looking confused.  "I thought they were supposed to be really big."

"Oh, they're big," Apollon says.

I nod emphatically.  "Nasty, too.  Their claws are like, this long."  I stretch out my finger and thumb.

"Nah-ah," says Taylor.

"Uh huh," I say.

Jacob is rubbing his head.  "Holy crap.  It sounds like you guys went through hell out there.  It must have been terrible."

Apollon and I look at each other.  We shrug.

"Nah, it wasn't so bad," Apollon says.

"No, not really," I agree.  "It was... kinda fun."  When I glance at Apollon, he's grinning at me.

"Eden—" he starts to say, and god knows what kind of story is going to pour out of his mouth, but Jonas cuts him off.

"I'm sure we'd all like to hear about the rest of it," Jonas says, "but right now there's the question of the fire.  It sounds like we're going to build one, so how are we going to shield it from the view of any lurking Sentries?"

Silence descends as we consider.  As Apollon and I eye Jonas.  "Snow walls," I finally say, making my voice light.  I start scooping the snow into a pile before anyone can continue.

Jacob mutters under his breath and goes off to gather some firewood.  His brother trails behind him.

Apollon starts building a wall opposite me, to cover the other side of the fire.  We place the walls far enough away that the heat from the fire won’t be a problem.  Jonas watches a second, then starts helping.

It doesn't take very long to get the whole thing set up.  Soon, a fire is blazing in the center of our campsite, though we keep it small.  It's enough to warm some water and replenish our body heat, but even as I squat beside it, I don't feel very warm.  I glance at Jonas, turned away from me, and realize that I'm disappointed.  I'm not sure what I expected from him at our reunion—maybe forgiveness?  Perhaps not, but at least relief.  I could hear the strain in his voice when he asked Apollon if I was with him.  He was worried about me.  Admittedly, there was no time to talk because we were busy hiding from Sentries, but even so, shouldn't the talking have come later?  We've told our stupid story about being chased by everything, but I have a feeling he didn't want to hear it.  And there's nothing back from him.  Just silence and brooding.  I feel dismissed.  There has been no reunion.

When it's time to go to sleep, the sleeping arrangements are the same as they were before we got separated.  This surprises me, and it also makes me uncomfortable.  Apollon and I glance at each other sidelong as I prepare to slip into my pack with Jonas.  It's not that there's anything between us, but I'm used to curling up beside Apollon now.  That place felt safe and happy.  Apollon and I have become a team.  I don't like the separation.  I don't like reverting.

Nonetheless, my heart still jumps as Jonas slides under the blanket beside me.  His arm around me brings a thousand warm memories, making me miss him all the more.  With our bodies right next to each other, I should feel closer to him.  But it only makes me aware of how far away he really is.

He presses his nose into the nape of my neck.  His breath is warm, but it makes a shiver crawl through me.  I force myself to relax.

"You smell like an animal," he mumbles.  His voice is always so rich and soft, no matter how biting his words.

I reach under the hem of my coat and pull out a wad of fur.  I'm used to it now, and when it's extra cold out, I'm thankful to smell like an animal.  I toss the fur up over my shoulder and into his face.  "At least I have an excuse for it."  My voice sounds colder than the snow.

He snorts softly, probably trying to push fur out of his nostrils.  His arm goes up to grab the fur away.  I expect him to toss it.  Instead, his fingers find the bottom hem of my coat and reach up underneath.  He slips the fur back into place, tucking gently.  The brush of his fingers makes my stomach muscles contract.  I can't breathe.  Not until he removes his hand, pats my coat into place, and replaces his arm over my side.  A few seconds pass.  Then I remember that I need air.  I make myself breathe in, trying to keep it slow and steady, but I feel like I'm suffocating.  Jonas' arm pulls me closer.  I close my eyes and focus on regulating my breath.  For a long time I can only register the sensations within my own body.  Then I suddenly notice how stiff and controlled his own breath is, falling on my neck evenly, but not softly enough to be natural.  Despite everything, in that moment I feel close to him.  I feel that we haven't really lost each other.  A little sigh—shuddering in and then out, like the kind that comes at the end of a long cry—makes its way out of my chest.  My body relaxes.  And then I'm drifting in happy sleepiness.

Chapter 19:  The Dead

We eat a breakfast of nuts and more dried meat.  It takes a lot of chewing.  Maybe that's why we're so quiet, but maybe not.  No one speaks until we're packing everything up to go.  Then it's me and Apollon, chattering about what we might find when we get to the city.

"Do we have a plan for when we get there?" Apollon throws out.  "Or are we just winging it?"

"We have to get to the tower as soon as possible." I stuff my tin cup into my pack.  "It's been a long time.  We can't waste any more."

Jonas glances at Jacob and Taylor, then snorts, slinging his pack up onto his shoulders.  "Not like we're going to find anything there.  Outpost Three is on its own."

I stop what I'm doing and give him a look.

"You shouldn't get your hopes up, Eden," he says, brow furrowing.  He's trying to backpedal ever-so-slightly from his disparaging comment.  "You remember what Miranda said.  They built a tower in every city.  What are the chances that this is the right one?  What are the chances that any of them will hold the key to destroying all the Sentries?  I mean, what do you expect to find?  An off button?"

I pick up my pack, tighten its straps, and start walking.  I'm not giving him an answer.  Jonas' criticism has shaken me far more than it should have.  Maybe because he's right.  There is no logical reason to believe that we will find anything at this tower.  It's a shot in the dark, and nothing more.  A desperate search for something that might help.  Even Matt must have known this—a realization that comes to me for the first time.  So, did he send me away to save the Outpost, or was it to save me?  Sudden longing for Matt comes with the question.  I want to ask him, want to find out.  I wade in memories of him, and for the first time, I really want to know him more.  Awareness of my feelings sinks in.  It jars me, but I don't push it away.  I let its heaviness consume me.  I miss him.

What I push away is the thought that he may no longer exist.

The city is still very far away.  We might not make it in one day.  I'm in awe at how big it must be to cast that kind of glow in the sky from such a distance.  We walk well into the afternoon before we stop to eat.

"Maybe we should camp here," Taylor suggests, even though there is still daylight to walk by.  "We don't want to get to the city at night.  And we don't want to camp too close.  If we stop here, we can probably get in by late morning."

It makes sense.  I don't like the idea of waiting until tomorrow, but it would probably be best.  "Yeah," I agree.  "Let's do that.  We can get some good rest.  Tomorrow will be a big day."  I can't help but glance off in the direction of the city, wondering about the tower.  Logical thoughts and desperate hopes aside, there is something ingrained in me that demands to get there.  I don't know how I've remained so patient for so long.  My insides are running wild, a rush of blood and adrenaline.  I feel dizzy, and restless, and sick to my stomach.  I make myself breathe and focus on building a snow wall for the campfire.  Apollon helps, but I don't talk to him.  I'm too busy focusing on the work.  Doing something with my hands helps.  I can put myself into the effort.

Jonas unpacks our things and gathers a layer of brush to line the campsite.  We start a small fire and Jacob and Taylor head off to find more fuel for later.  There's nothing left to do.  I feel like running again.  I pace for a moment, arms crossed, staring at the fire.  Apollon makes himself comfortable, sitting on his bedroll.  I cast around for something to busy myself, find nothing, then go to sit with him.  I lean against him, and he puts his arm around me.

He leans closer and whispers softly, "Doing OK?"

I sigh and rest my head on his shoulder.  "Just tired," I mutter.

He laughs softly.  He doesn't believe me for a second.  "Don't worry," he murmurs, squeezing gently.  "We'll find your tower."

"Shall I go away and give you two some privacy?" Jonas asks suddenly from across the campfire.

I open my eyes and look at him.

"I imagine you miss your alone time," he continues.  "I can go and collect some more firewood.  Maybe there'll be a blizzard."  For all his talk about going away, he doesn't move.

I'm pissed.  I'm about to tell him he should  go away and get lost in a blizzard, but Apollon stands and moves away from me.  My eyes follow him as he goes.

Apollon leans against the trunk of a nearby tree, crossing his arms.  His eyes are narrowed on Jonas.  He's pissed, too.  "For god sakes," he says, "quit being an ass.  She didn't sleep with me, OK?  And it's not like I didn't try to talk her into it."

My voice has evaporated.  In all the time Apollon and I were alone in the wilderness, sleeping curled up together, he didn't so much as make one half-hearted pass at me.  I consider that evidence of the true bond of our friendship.  We're way beyond that.  We've really become family.  My eyes fly to Jonas to see what he'll make of Apollon's jab.  But he's already walking away.

Silence descends over our campsite as we watch him go.  I stare into the fire and recall Apollon's warning.  Don't fall for Jonas.  He'll break my heart.

Problem is, I fell for him a long time ago.  How do you unfall for someone?  Is there any hope?  I don't even know where my emotions are coming from.  Do I really feel this way about him?  Or is that Lily?  And when Lily loved him—when she loved Jason—was he anything like this?  Eden and Jonas could be worlds away from Jason and Lily.  That's the sad, cold fact.  Can I let myself be ruled by emotions that may have no bearing on what really exists?  Is that what's happening to him, too?  I stare and stare into the fire, wanting desperately to erase myself for good.  To just be me.  To just be Eden.  I'm sorry, Lily, I think.  You don't belong here.

Apollon sits back down—on one of the other packs this time—but remains quiet.  He stares into the fire, too.  We don't need to talk about this or sort this out.  We're OK with the silence.

Jacob and Taylor come back with loads of firewood, but we only put on a couple of branches at a time.  The last thing we need now is for some Sentries to notice us.  We're close enough to the city to know we need to be careful, even if the other Sentries hadn't chased us.

After a while, Jonas comes back, too.  He's carrying a rabbit by the ears.  He sits down just outside of camp and starts cleaning it, without so much as a word.  When he's done, he brings the meat, skewered on a sharpened stick, to the fire and props it over the flames between two rocks.  Then he goes back to where he was cleaning, and returns with a handful of rabbit fur.  "You want some more?" he asks me, offering the handful, "or are you furry enough?"

I halfway appreciate the attempt at civility, except that I can see he's still bristling inside.  He may try to bury it, but it's not a real reconciliation.

"I'm furry enough."  I wave him off.  I study my nails, digging dirt out from beneath them.

Jonas sighs and wanders away with his fur.

The night passes in awkward silence.  We go to bed early, wanting to be rested for the next day.  Sleeping next to Jonas is both thrilling and heart-breaking.  Tears leak from my eyes before I fall asleep.  I need to make this stop.  I don't want to, but I need to.

In the morning, I'm awake before the others.  Dawn is still grey, the sky only half-lit.  It's beyond cold, but there's something peaceful and sacred about the early morning in the wilderness.  I slip from camp while the others are only starting to climb from their packs.  I wander off to find a place to use the bathroom, and then a little farther just to be alone.  The trees rise above me in long lines reaching toward the sky.  Physically, I feel tiny beneath them, but my soul must be larger here, mirroring the vastness of the trees.  I feel strangely significant amongst this endless, overwhelming world.

I walk out onto a rock that drops off, not far, but a good leap to the level below.  I stop at the edge and gaze onward.  My breath catches.  The cat's eyes meet mine, and we both stand frozen.  It's only fifty feet off in the snow.  Huge.  Long, and muscled.  It's eyes are golden.  It's probably the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.  And the most frightening.  It may not be as big as a bear, but something about the way it holds itself says it could close the distance and catch hold of me before I could blink.  But it doesn't.  We both just stare.

Then, all at once, it decides I am not a threat.  Or maybe not even interesting.  It turns away, dismissing me.  It pads off into the snow.  The roll of golden fur over smooth shoulders is entrancing.  I can't breathe until it's gone.  Even then, I stand and watch, wishing despite my fear that it would come back so I could catch one more glimpse of it.

Moments later, I make my feet move again.  I head back to camp, where the others are finishing breakfast.  Jacob hands me my portion of leftover rabbit.  I munch a bite of the rabbit leg, then hold it in my mouth so I can use both hands to rummage through my pack.  I haven't thought of these in some time, but now I'm relieved to find they're still there.  Matt and I decided against bringing gold in money form, which could probably be more of a liability than a help in the city.  I left behind the money I received from Sawyer, and each of us only carry a small handful of silver.  I should have left the rings in the Outpost as well, but somehow, I couldn’t.  I tucked them into my pack without a word, knowing it was foolish.  Knowing I shouldn’t.  Now, I’m so glad I did.  Without bringing them out of the little pouch, I run my fingers over the rings, stroking their golden surfaces.  I hold the lion ring in my palm and gaze down at its beautiful lines.  For the first time I understand what Matt meant.  I breathlessly recall my encounter with the lion, and wonder if Matt really thinks I'm that kind of beautiful.  Is it possible for anyone to feel that way about me?

The others are moving around more, so I hastily put my rings away.  I glance up and see Jonas walking off into the forest and feel an immediate resolve to set things straight.  I give him a moment—he's probably going to use the bathroom—and then I head off after him.

He's already walking back toward the campsite when I find him, but we're far enough away to have a little privacy.  He looks surprised to see me.  He slows to a stop in front of me, his eyes searching my face.

"Can we talk?" I ask softly.

He shrugs, glances around, then gestures toward a fallen log.  We sit facing each other, straddling the log, and there's an awkward silence.  I was never sure exactly what I meant to say.

"I wish we could put all this behind us," I finally manage, and the words start to come more easily.  "I hate the way we've been.  I hate feeling like we're enemies."

There is a moment where the words sink in.  Then he says, "I hate it, too."

I lean a little closer to him, feeling a wash of relief.  "OK, then.  Let's not do that anymore.  Let's be friends."

Again, a pause.  He looks away, into the snow.  When he speaks, his words come out carefully, slowly.  "But we're not friends, are we."  It's more of a statement than a question.

I scan his face uncertainly, my heart already sinking.  "We're not?"

Now he looks at me.  "We're so much more than friends," he says, leaning in, taking my hands in his.  He looks deep into my eyes.  "We belong to each other."  His voice goes to a hoarse whisper.  "You belong to me."

I jerk my hands away, reeling in dizziness, in ecstasy and confusion.  I'm shaking my head before I even know what I'm doing.  "No," I whisper back.  "I don't belong to you.  Not to anyone.  You can't just claim me like I'm some slave."

A wave of pain flits across his face into his eyes.  "It's not just one way," he protests.  "That's not what I'm saying."

But I'm already backpedaling.  My head-shaking grows more pronounced.  "We're not those people anymore," I insist, my voice gaining strength and determination.  "We don't even know who those people are."

"But our marks."  His voice is very soft, and I can hear the hurt in it.  It does nothing to dissuade me.

"I have an idea," I suddenly proclaim, acid growing in my voice.  "I'll conk you over the head until you pass out and have amnesia.  Before you come to, I'll cross out 'Lily' and tattoo 'Apollon' onto your lip.  When you wake up, we'll see how you feel about it.  Deal?"

He stares at me incredulously.

I'm seething.  This anger has been buried deep inside, hidden out of sight.  But I've let it out, now.  Only the look in his eyes quenches my fury.  I feel horrible for what I've said to him, but I don't want to take it back.  Instead, I try to explain things more tactfully, in a way that will hopefully preserve our friendship.  However angry I am, I don't want to hurt him.  I just want to make this craziness stop and escape with my heart in halfway-working order.  I'm afraid I'll do neither.

"Look," I say softly, "I just...  It's just too much.  I don't even have any idea who I am, but I'm pretty sure it's not her.  And you—you don't even like me, if you're honest with yourself.  I just annoy you."

He makes an exasperated little sigh and looks away, but I continue before he can say anything.

"There's obviously something, with both of us, that’s pulling us toward our past.  And maybe when we were them we believed we would get through anything.  But we're not them, and we don't know how to be them, and we're both just miserable because of whatever that thing is that's tugging on us.  But I think it would be a mistake to just jump into something because of what it was before.  That's gone."

His eyes scan over mine again, his expression falling.  I feel the same sense of loss that I read in his face.  But the dead are meant to be buried.  Jason and Lily are dead.

He reaches up and touches my face.  "I don't know how to let you go," he whispers.  "I've been waiting for you ever since I woke up."

I can't stop the tears from falling now.  I look down and they drop freely onto the log between us.  "I know," I choke out.  "I'm sorry."  I can only wish that I was Lily.  That I could be that thing that would have completed him.  Instead, I am the end of his journey.  The place that he's ended up, that is nothing like he wanted or expected.

But he shakes his head, then he leans in and kisses me gently on the forehead.  "Don't be," he says.  His voice wavers.  "You're right.  You're barely out of the box.  How can I expect you to know who you are, when I don't even know who I am after three—almost four years, now?"

I sit back to look up at him, and we search each other's eyes in a first moment of understanding.

He smiles at me sadly and brushes one of my tears away.  I want to do the same for his, but my hands are lead.  They won't leave the log.

"Let's try to move past this," he says.  "Let's not be horrible to each other."

I nod, but find myself closing my eyes.  "What I did at the Outpost," I say, before we can move on.

"Done is done," he says quickly.  "You did what you had to.  Here we are.  And this was the plan all along.  Right?"

I manage to throw him a smile as we climb up from the log and head back toward camp.  "You know," I say, still wiping at my eyes, "I really did make the right choice.  Don't you see?  We're going south.  I gave you what you wanted all along."

He looks at me sideways as we walk and gives me a funny, sad little smile.  Then he looks ahead of us, toward the camp, where we can see our friends getting everything ready to go.  "I guess so."  But his voice does not sound like he believes it.

We join our friends and gather our packs.  Apollon catches my eye questioningly when Jonas is turned away, and I shrug it off.  In only a moment, we're heading toward Minneapolis and I know we'll reach it in a few short hours.  Part of me feels light as air, ready to face anything.  But part of me is heavy.  There's a sadness, a grief, that won't go away.  That's Lily, I'm thinking.  Go away, Lily.  I'm not you.

My first real glimpse of the city squashes any other thoughts.  The buildings tower into the sky, like nothing in Outpost Three.  The odds are, I've lived in a city like this before.  The only other thing is the Outposts, and surely I was not dropped so close to home after my erasure.  I've imagined this sort of thing in my mind's eye, but this—this is foreign.  The city butts up against the boundary line, ready to spill out.  Everything juts straight upward.  There is forest, then scanner posts, and then skyscrapers.  They've built right out of the wall, right up to the scanner posts, making the most of every inch of space.  We stand back, hidden by the trees, and gape.  We're still a safe distance away, but now we consider a detail that has not occurred to us before.  Our original plan is gone, along with the Sentries that should have accompanied us here—that should have gotten us back inside the scanner line.  Now we must cross the barrier on our own, with nothing to protect us.  As far as we can see, there are only a few small gaps between buildings—the only paths into Minneapolis.  Each one of them is filled with the still-gazing body of a Sentry.

Chapter 20:  Learning Curve

"How are we going to get in," I whisper, ducking back behind a large tree.

We look at each other in silence.

Jonas, considering, glances toward the city.  "We're going to have to take one down."  His voice is soft and dark.

A chill passes through me.  An image of an arm thudding into a pool of blood, fingers twitching.  I have to remind myself that these aren’t Matt’s Sentries.  They’ve not been reprogrammed to defend their crystals.

Jacob and Taylor look at each other.

"It's the only way," Taylor agrees.  His brother nods.

"OK," says Apollon, "how do we want to do this?  We can maybe confuse it with misdirection.  Come at it from different sides."

Jacob shakes his head.  "Nah.  There's only one way to do it.  That thing's gotta scoop one of us up in order for us to get at its compartment, so one of us is just going to have to walk up there and let it have us.  The others can run through, get in quickly.  And then when the Sentry is down, we'll all be in and running for it before another can respond."

I open my mouth to volunteer, but Taylor is ahead of me.

"I'll do it."

"Hell no," Jacob says.  "I'll do it.  You go with the others."

"How 'bout I do it?" I say.  "Neither of you knows what you're doing.  You weren't there for the takedown at Outpost Three."  Part of me is dying to destroy another of these machines, though I know, ultimately, it means nothing.  There's no real revenge.

Jacob and Taylor are both laughing.  Apollon and Jonas are just looking at me darkly.  I can see now there's no way Jonas or Apollon are going to let me do it.  But they don't need to protest, because Jacob and Taylor are already shaking their heads furiously.

"We let you tangle with a Sentry when we could have done it, and Matt has our balls on a stick," Jacob says.  "We're here to protect you, and that does not include letting you play with killer robots."

"Matt's not here," I say, crossing my arms, but they've already dismissed me.  Matt has a way of being there, even when he’s not.

"I'm doing it," Taylor says.

"I am," insists Jacob.

They look at each other, then simultaneously pound their fists on their palms three times in a row, followed by different gestures.

"Scissors beats paper," Taylor says triumphantly.

Jacob grunts, but he makes no further protest.  They turn and look toward the wall.

Apollon, Jonas, and I exchange weird looks.  "What was that?" I whisper to Apollon as we slowly follow Jacob and Taylor's lead forward.

He shrugs.  "Hoodoo?"

"Fate has decided," Jonas says softly from behind me.  I feel a chill move up my spine.

As we inch closer, I realize I'm surprised that Jonas and Apollon aren't fighting it out for the chance to take down the Sentry.  Then I understand, when I notice how both of them are standing closer to me than usual.  They're not letting me out of their sight.  Jacob and Taylor might think of themselves as my guards, but Jonas and Apollon are my true protectors.  Both of them have risked their lives for me, and they're happy to do it again.  I would do the same for them in a heartbeat.  And truth is, there are probably things in Minneapolis that are more dangerous than Sentries.  We may be walking straight into them.

We form up as close to the boundary as we can without being seen.

"I'll enter the line here, to draw it off," Taylor whispers.  "You guys go over there near the gap to get ready.  As soon as it moves out of the way, run for it.  When you get a couple of blocks down, wait for me.  I'll catch up in a minute."

Apollon nods and takes Taylor's pack.

Jacob grips his brother by the shoulder.  "Be careful."

"I'm always careful, little brother," Taylor grins.  "You could still learn a thing or two about that."

Jacob rolls his eyes as we move off, stalking quietly through the forest's edge toward our waiting place.  We stop only a short sprint away from the Sentry, barely daring to breathe.  We look back at Taylor.  Jonas nods at him.  He nods back and walks toward the boundary line.

The instant that he crosses between the scanner posts, the Sentry springs into life.  There is no delay.  It barrels toward him, its huge metal feet clanking against the pavement, then sinking inhuman footprints into the mud.

Jonas holds his arm out in front of us, signaling us to wait.  We have to time it right, or the Sentry will turn away from Taylor and head for us instead.

Heartbeats pass.  The Sentry closes the distance between itself and Taylor.  It is almost upon him.  Now.

We start running.

I can't help but turn my face to watch.  Everything comes in fractured glimpses.  My body jars with every step I take.

Taylor, in the Sentry's fist, swoops upward.  His blade flashes in the sun, moving toward the Sentry's chest compartment.  A blur.  A noise—a shriek from Taylor, subdued by the distance.  A gurgling sound.

Jacob, in front of me, skids to a halt, looking back.  I slam into his back.  I'm not looking at him.  I'm looking at the Sentry.  We all are.

Its back is to us.  The claw lowers Taylor.  We can't see him, now.  But we see the blood pooling around the Sentry's feet.  We see the arm that falls into the snow, fingers twitching.

"Nooooooooo!!!" Jacob screams.

Apollon and Jonas tackle him and drag him into the gap between the buildings.  They barrel forward, not losing momentum.  I trail in their wake, making my feet move forward.  My mind is reeling.  My stomach threatens to launch its contents.  But I keep moving, too.  I know beyond all doubt there is nothing we can do.  If we don't keep moving now, we will all share Taylor's fate.

We run down the narrow alley and take the first turn, then another.  We keep running, moving.  I don't even notice my surroundings until, at last, we slow to a stop.  The smell hits me first—the stench of piss, of something rotten, all condensed into a small space.  Breathing hard, we stand in the street and look around us.  We're in a main thoroughfare now, judging from the traffic, but it’s still narrow.  I feel squashed, smothered.  On all sides, a crowd throngs around us.  Most of them are dressed in rags.  Hollow faces huddle three or four bodies deep against both edges of the road, dirty, hopeless, and lost.  Many of them are children.

I'm scanning their faces frantically before I even realize what I'm doing.  "Oscar," I hear myself whisper.  It hits me, and I break off before I can call out his name.  Before I can start running again, sifting through the masses of them.

Apollon's hand clamps onto mine, but he says nothing.  He and Jonas are focused on Jacob, who is shaking violently.  Tears are pouring from widened eyes down his face.  I want to help him, but all I can do is stand here trying not to break down, myself.

"We need to find somewhere to regroup," Jonas says quietly.  "Get out of this mess."

I cast around for somewhere to go, but as far as I can see, it's piles upon piles.  People, and people, and buildings looming over them.  There's no breathing room.  No space.  I have to force my breath to steadiness.  It's too much.

There is a commotion on the street ahead, maybe a block away.  The ragged masses push away from the center, squashing and trampling each other in the process.  We're caught in a wave of motion and carried backward, but still we try to look.  Where the commotion started, there's a group of figures, similarly dressed in black with blue bandanas.  They're moving down the street toward us.

The wave of people suddenly backlashes from the other direction, and we're pushed the opposite way from before.  We manage to finally see why.  On our opposite side, there's another group of people.  These are dressed primarily in white.  One of them, clearly a leader, wears a purple doo rag and carries what might be the biggest gun I've ever seen.  He raises it toward us.

My feet are almost yanked from under me as Apollon hauls me toward the side of the street.  If my friends weren't so big, weren't so physically powerful, we'd never get a step in this crowd.  But somehow we do.  Somehow we move through it, when everyone else is jostled about.  I don't have a clue where they think we're going until we're almost to the tiny crack of an alleyway.  Gunshots blast through the street right before we reach it.  Screams.  People fall and are trampled.  I glance back as Jonas pushes me into the alleyway before him.  It’s a bloodbath.  Both the black-and-blue wearing guys, and the white-wearing guys are in an open firefight now.  None of them seem to give a damn about all the people in between.

"Go!" Jonas urges me.  I turn and start running.  Ahead of me, Apollon pushes a stumbling, disoriented Jacob forward.  The alley is so narrow that Apollon's shoulders brush the walls on both sides.  We keep moving as long as we can, sometimes having to climb over people who have blocked the way.

At last, we start to turn onto a larger street, but Apollon backpedals.  Hovering a few feet back from the opening, he whispers, "Sentry."

I'm not sure about the boys—who knows if the Sentries would recognize them as being from Outpost Three or not—but I know about myself.  The Sentries have me in their database.  They will kill me on sight.

Apollon nods toward the crack where our alleyway continues on the opposite side of the cross street.  "It's back is turned," he murmurs.  "It's a little ways down."

I nod.  We walk out into the street as silently and calmly as we can.  I count backward as we go.  Steady.  Calm.  Ninety-nine.  Ninety-eight.  Ninety-seven.  It only takes a few seconds to cross, but it feels like centuries.  We pick up our pace on the other side and continue on.  Above us, the buildings grow taller.  We're in shadow so deep it feels like night.  We're all exhausted, and there is no real place to rest.  Everything has a feeling of incredible danger.

I'm about to suggest we stop to catch our breath at the next cross street, where there might be a touch of open air.  The alleys reek of excrement.  The smell is overwhelming.  But we turn onto a road maybe three times wider than the alley, and I glance to my left.  When I see it, everything else is gone.  There is no thinking.  I start running.

"Eden," Jonas' voice sounds startled, distant.  I'm already moving off.

My feet pound and pound against the icy pavement.  I'm in a dream.  I barrel down the street, shoving ragged bodies out of my way.  There are gunshots in the distance, but they mean nothing.  Footsteps drumming along a ways behind me mean little more.  I'm only vaguely aware that my friends are following.  I don't care if they are or not.  I have to get to the tower.

It's nestled into a tangle of skyscrapers—a wonder I even saw it—overwhelmed by their presence.  This city has grown upward since the tower was built.  I skid to a stop at the bottom of its steps, ignoring the blasts from a few blocks down, and look up at the white spire.  It's the briefest pause.  I run up the steps and through the open arch.  I'm here.  I'm here!

Inside is an open chamber.  Above, an overhang of upper levels.  A maze of stairs.  I bolt for the nearest stairway and take the stairs two at a time.  Apollon's voice flits to me from somewhere far away—outside, perhaps—and bounces off the walls of the chamber, distorting his words.  There are other noises outside.  The gunshots are drawing nearer, but I barely register them.

I run the stairs for all I'm worth, heading upward.  I burst onto the level stretch three floors up and slide to a stop, gazing down the barrel of a gun.  My hand is on my knife instinctually.  I have it out and ready to throw, but I'm probably too late to save my own life.

The gun wavers, and only then do I see the person holding it.  His brown eyes are wide.  His hand trembles.  He looks young—so young.  Hardly more than a boy.  He lowers the gun, not taking his eyes from me.  I freeze.  It takes him a moment to find his voice, but then he chokes out, "Lily, don't be afraid.  You've found what you've been looking for."

No.  Fucking.  Way.

My knife clanks loudly as it hits the marble floor.

Chapter 21:  What You’ve Been Looking For

The words swim in my mind, loud, incoherent, but full of meaning.  I've heard them a thousand times before.  More than that.  These words are part of me, as much as the tower.  Lily, don't be afraid.  You've found what you've been looking for.  I understand the truth of them without questioning it.  But I'm fazed.  I'm blinking.  Everything has gone a bit blurry.  I try to focus on the youth in front of me.  His form shifts like that of a ghost, fuzzy lines, unsteady.  Is he really like that, or is it me?  I'm guessing the latter, judging from the pounding in my head.

"Who are you?" I choke out, but he doesn't answer.  His eyes are still wide, like he's the one who's seeing a ghost.

The noise below us jars me to new awareness.  That was not just a gunshot, but an explosion, and not far off.

"Crap," the boy says, glancing downward.  He looks worried.  There are footsteps now, running down the stairs from above.

I dive for my knife.

Below, another explosion, closer.  A wave of dust billows in through the arched doorway and wafts upward.  My fingers are around my knife, I'm up, and turning to run down the stairs, but he grabs me by the arm.

"Wait."

"Eden!"  It's Apollon's voice, bouncing up to us from somewhere below.

"Up here!"  I hear the sound of his feet on the stairs.  Is it just him?  Where's Jonas and Jacob?

A group of men, and one girl, pour down the stairs from above.  They slam to a halt as they hit the landing and stare at me.  It only lasts an instant.

The noises below are worse.  There's the sound of automatic gunfire.  Short bursts.  Concrete taking bullets.  Grunts and screams.  I know these noises too well.

"Holy hell," one of the men says, "it had to be now."  He gestures and the group runs past me.  Only as they go do I see the load of guns they are carrying.  They head down the stairs, where Apollon is just emerging onto the platform, looking wide-eyed and confused as they barrel by him.  The man who is in charge claps the brown-eyed youth on the shoulder before going after the others.  "Get her out of here," he says darkly.  "We'll meet you at the house."  He eyes me briefly as he steps toward the stairs, hoisting an assault rifle.

"...What the hell...?" says Apollon softly, stepping to my side.

"Gang wars," the youth supplies quickly, pulling me toward the stairs.  "No time to explain.  Don't worry.  There's a back way.  There wasn't always.  We made one."

We're running down the stairs, and Apollon is giving me a funny look.  “Nothing like a little deus ex machina,” he says.

“Hunh?”

“Let’s just say this is quite the coincidence.”

It is.  Quite.  But I’m not worrying about that right now.  There are more important things.  "Where's Jonas?" I ask.  "Did he come in here with you?  Is he OK?"

"He was a little slower," Apollon says uncertainly.  "Jacob's not up to full speed.  They weren't far behind me."

We make it to the lower level.  The inside chamber is deserted, but just outside the door we hear rapid fire.  Another explosion rocks the whole building, sending a second wave of dust at us.

"Jonas."  I cover my mouth and nose with my sleeve.  Panic is rising inside me.  "We have to find him."

"We will." Apollon sounds so much more confident than I feel.  "But we can't go that way for sure.  Let's try this back way out."

Reluctantly, I go along with them.  The youth leads us through a series of chambers.  I can hardly see in all the dust that's being kicked up.  Two human-sized shadows appear in the gloom ahead of us.

"Eden!"  Jonas' voice, carrying toward me, might be the sweetest thing I've ever heard.

"Here!" I say.  The youth, next to me, has his gun pointed toward them.  I push his arm down.  "Friends."

He doesn't waste a beat.  He moves past them without a glance, still leading us toward the back exit.  I stay close behind him, afraid of losing him in all the dust.  Another blast, and the whole building trembles.  It's been here for hundreds of years, but what's to say it won't collapse today?

There's a board leaning against a wall.  The youth slides it away to reveal a hole.  He climbs through, then offers me a hand.  I still have my pack, so I use both hands to steady myself as I crawl through, my pack scraping the sides.  It's even harder for the boys to follow after me.  Apollon has to shove his pack through first, and then climb through.

We emerge into another narrow alley.  It's far from safe.  The gunfire is still too close, and moving this way.  We're about to be boxed in.  We run for the end of the alley.

The youth stops against the wall at the end and risks a glance out.  He curses softly under his breath.  Bullets whiz past on the street.  "We're going to have to fight our way free.”  He nods at me.  "Get ready to run."  He breaks cover and begins firing.  His pistol is semi-automatic, but it's hardly a match for the bigger guns the gangbangers are carrying.  Nevertheless, I can't help but notice that he wields it accurately.  We dive across the open street, making for the alley gap on the other side.  Bullets fly through the street where we were.  We huddle against the wall and look back as the youth joins us.

The first thing I see is how he's holding his stomach.  The second is that his face has gone deathly pale.  Blood crawls out of the gaps between his fingers.  His other hand raises toward us, trembling, the gun dangling off his fingers.  "You're going to need this," he chokes out.

I catch him as he stumbles forward.

Apollon yanks the gun from his hand and whirls to fire at the alley opening.  "Go!"

We retreat down the alleyway, me supporting the youth.  Jonas and Jacob are behind me.  Apollon brings up the rear, occasionally firing behind us.  We manage a few turns, and put some distance between ourselves and the worst of the fighting.  There seems to be a few people dogging us, but Apollon is holding them back with return fire.

We need to get further away, but the youth is slowing, his movements becoming muddied and heavy.  I push him against a wall, where he slides down onto the alley's pavement.  I squat at his side and carefully pry his fingers from his stomach to check his wound.  It reminds me of the night Apollon got stabbed.  Only, as soon as I see the wound, I know that this is worse.  Far worse.  I've hardly realized that he's not going to survive this, when he starts fading.

I glance at the boys, a stone's throw away at the end of our alley.  Apollon is firing, Jacob and Jonas both weaponless, but at his side.  Jonas glances back and meets my gaze.  His own gaze darkens.  He walks quietly toward me.

I smooth back the youth's hair, my touch as tender as possible.  I want to say something—tell him it's OK—but it's not.  He's so young, and he's dying.  He gazes up at me through brown eyes that instantly pierce my heart, reminding me of Oscar.

He tries to speak, and at first, he can't seem to get it out.  His words are stuttering, broken by shivers and spasms of pain.  "Lil—y," he says.  "You have— Y— You have t—"

Jonas kneels down at his other side, touching his shoulder.  The youth's eyes go to him for the first time.  They grow round with surprise.  Whatever he was going to say to me is forgotten.  His last breath is spent on the word, "Jason."  He dies with a little smile on his face.

Jonas and I stare at each other over the body in silence.  I can't even begin to identify all the rampant emotions I am feeling.  Only the return of our friends and the need to flee gets either of us going.  We run away down the alleys, leaving the boy behind.  We run and run.  Eventually, signs of pursuit have stopped.  We catch our breath, sink down against a wall, and try to ignore the smell of piss.  Ignore the heaviness of the day.  But none of us speaks.  We're all just staring vacantly.

At long last, it's me that says, "I have to go back there.  I have to find those people."

Apollon's eyes flash.  "Seriously?  Who were they?"

I shrug.  "They were what I've been looking for."

He frowns, but says nothing.

A moment later, Jonas says, "The fighting will probably be clear of there before long.  It seems to move around."

I look at Jacob, and he's still staring into space.  He looks like a hollow version of the Jacob I have known.  I wonder if he even hears us.

We share out some food from our packs, then struggle to our feet and head carefully back in the direction of the tower.  Jonas is right that the fighting has moved clear of the place now.  Our biggest challenge is getting through the city's press of stinking people.  We shove our way through and arrive at our destination.

I stand on the steps, scanning the sight around me.  They're all dead.  Dead, naked, stripped of everything.  Just laying there.  A group of rag-robed beggars is pulling one of the bodies into an alleyway.  I sick up on the steps.  Then I wipe my mouth, turn, and walk away.  Jonas is the first to follow.

***

We locate a tavern on the bottom floor of a crumbling building.  The city must be oldest in this section, because many of the buildings are shorter.  Whatever upper stories there may have been have fallen away.  Other buildings appear to have never been strong enough to support higher levels in the first place.  We're walking toward the entrance when a woman standing at the front of the neighboring building calls to a girl across the street.

"Lillianna," her voice flits above the noise of the crowd, "did you get it?"

Apollon's head turns like a dog smelling a bone.  He peers through the crowd and finds Lillianna, pushing her way toward the woman, holding up a small sack.  She's pretty, though slightly bedraggled, her curly blonde hair looking unwashed and her clothes threadbare.  Apollon pushes off toward her, which does not surprise me.  The fact that he hauls Jonas with him does.  Jacob and I trail after them, leaving a bit of space, but careful not to get separated.

Apollon interjects himself and Jonas, whom he’s gripping by the elbow, between the older woman and Lillianna.  The girl looks startled, stopping in her tracks, but Apollon flashes her a reassuring smile and she relaxes, just a little.  Inwardly, I'm groaning, thinking now is not the time for chasing women.

"Lillianna, is it?" Apollon says to her.  He looks hopeful.  "This is my friend.”  He tugs on Jonas' arm, though he does not offer a name.  "Do you remember him?"

The girl looks confused.  I glance at Jonas, and he's clearly mortified.  He's shaking his head.  He wipes his hand over his face and glances over at me.  He looks like he wants to apologize.  Now I get it.  Lillianna.

Apollon is too intently focused on the girl to notice the exchange between me and Jonas.

Lillianna is shaking her head, too, an uncertain gesture.  She looks deeply concerned.  She tries to step around them.

"Wait," Apollon says, but Jonas jabs him with an elbow.

"Clearly not," Jonas growls under his breath, and pulls Apollon away.  They walk toward us, but now Jonas won't meet my gaze.  He looks like he's climbing down inside of himself to hide.

Apollon, beside him, turns his palms upward.  "It was worth a try.  You'll never know if—"

"Thanks," Jonas spits out.  That is clearly the end of the conversation.  Apollon shuts up.

We walk inside the bar in a tight group, scanning the people inside and putting out a general air of pissed-offishness.  Hopefully no one will mess with us.  There's nowhere to sit—standing room only—but at least we are able to buy a couple of drinks to quench our thirst.

I make a sour face as I take a sip of what is supposed to be beer.  I'm not sure I want to know what it really is.

Apollon grimaces and chugs his down.

We're supposed to be strategizing and finding a place to spend the night.  It's possible the barkeep might be able to tell us where we could hire a room, or even a shed, but the chance to actually speak with him eludes us.  We linger near the bar and keep an eye out for an opening.

"What the hell happened today?" Apollon asks, finishing his 'beer'.  His voice is low, so hopefully no one outside our group will hear over the noise of general conversation.  "I mean, Taylor.  That shouldn’t have happened."

I take a gulp of my drink, not that I want to.  I follow that with a deep breath.  Then I say, “The Sentries have been updated."

All of their eyes fly to me, even Jacob's, and I had the feeling he wasn't hearing anything.

“Nonono,” says Apollon.  “That’s in Outpost Three.  We heard about that— the guy with the arm.  Those Sentries have been reprogrammed.  Nobody has touched these ones.”

I close my eyes for a second, mentally regrouping.  Then I say, as calmly as I can, "You think it’s a coincidence that these ones suddenly know how to do exactly what Matt taught the other ones?  I bet if you gave them a big gun they could fire it, too.  These Sentries have been reprogrammed."  My voice breaks now as I look at Jacob, shaking my head, "I should have thought of it.  Should have figured it out...."

Apollon's hand clamps down on my shoulder.  "Who would have ever thought of that?" he asks.  "It doesn't make sense.  How the hell are they learning from him?"

I continue shaking my head, feeling suddenly unsteady on my feet.

There's a long silence.  I can feel Jacob's eyes on me, and I can't look up to meet them.  I feel like I have killed his brother.  Why didn’t I see this coming?  Why didn’t I know?  They’re smarter than we think.

"They're linked," Jonas finally says.  "We knew that.  We didn't know they could learn from the other ones.  Clearly they can.  But they're obviously not getting the part where they should be taking Matt's orders.  They'd have to have their crystals rewritten for that, right?  Which is impossible now.  So they're getting smarter and stronger, and they're invulnerable.  That's bad.  That's really bad."

"Understatement of the week," Apollon scoffs.  "We have no idea what Matt might decide to teach them.  We could be in for some really bad surprises."

"We need to warn him," I mumble, almost to myself.  "Make him stop."

Apollon and Jonas look at each other, and then at Jacob.

I start to shake my head yet again, but a cursory glance from Apollon shuts me up before I even open my mouth.

"Jacob," Jonas says, taking him by the shoulder, "you have to go back and tell Matt.  Get him to stop."

Jacob just stares at him.  But then, a moment later, he nods.  "We have to get this back to him.  But I can't leave Eden.  And we may as well all go back, now.  There's no point to this.  Our mission's a bust."

His words hit me in the chest.  Is it really over?  After everything, have I failed?  My mind hovers over the memory of those bodies lying on the tower steps.  Not just the loss of many lives.  The loss of our hope.

Jonas clears his throat.  "It's possible that some of those people—whoever they were—escaped.  We can't leave here until we've ruled that out.  The Outpost is gone unless we can find a way to stop this."

He sounds very convincing, but I catch the glance between him and Apollon.  Jacob doesn't.  He hesitates.  I watch him process it all and I feel horribly guilty.  Are we really sending him back on his own?  We're stuck inside the barrier again.  He'll have to take the road home, and that's even worse than the wilderness.

"I guess it doesn't matter," Jacob finally mutters.  "We're probably all dead either way."  He gives me a grim look.  "Is it alright if I tell Matt it was you that ordered me back, Eden?"

I quell my surprise and nod.  "Yeah," I manage.  "Tell him I insisted."

"If it's all the same to you," Jacob says, "I'm gonna get going then.  This place is too crowded.  I can't breathe here.  I'd rather sleep on the road."

We have our concerns, but we let him go.  More than anything, I think he wants to be alone to grieve.  Solemnly, we wish him well on his journey, and he stalks away out of the bar.  I wonder if any of us will ever see him again.  I wonder if he'll get home to Outpost Three.  I wonder if there is an Outpost Three anymore.

We lapse into silence for a while, and the guilt sinks deeper and deeper.  "Did we really need to do that?" I mutter.  "Send him on the road alone?"

Jonas just shakes his head uncertainly.  "Well, we can hardly take him with us.  He's not up to speed.  He'll get us killed."

"His brother just died," I say.  "We just got his brother killed."

Apollon pats my back soothingly.  "Stop blaming yourself," he says.  "Taylor wanted to do it.  He knew the risks."

I shake my head, turn my face away.  I take a deep breath.  I don't want to talk about this anymore.  Everything has gone horribly wrong, and I don't know how to fix it.  I don't know what to do now.  We could spend forever searching for people who no longer exist.  Out of all the chances that I would find anything at the tower, I did.  And it was ripped away from me in seconds.  Is there any way to stop the Sentries now?  To save my friends?  I'm thinking about Matt, and Outpost Three, and just a hand in the snow.  There's more to this than I can stomach thinking about.  But I have to tell my friends.  They need to know what we're up against.

Just as I'm working up to it, Jonas sees his opening with the bartender and steps off to speak with him.  Apollon and I watch.  He beckons us over.  When Apollon goes, I don't.  My feet won't seem to move.  I'm so tired.

My friends are only a few steps away, but they have no sooner moved off than some guy takes his opening.  He approaches me with a smile and introduces himself, but I don't pay any attention to his name.  He looks weird, with crazy spiky hair and an odd manner, but I find him nonthreatening.  I can't even be bothered looking bored.  I mostly just ignore him as he chatters at me.

Apollon, though, glancing back, doesn't like it.  He materializes at my shoulder, crossing his arms, looking down on the guy, who glances nervously up at him.

"My friend is a total badass," Apollon says, stone-faced.

The guy hesitates, glancing from Apollon to me.

"She fights bears," Apollon says.  "With sticks."

That's enough.  My would-be suitor retreats without so much as a word.  Somehow I think it has more to do with Apollon's badassishness than my own.  We look at each other, then toward Jonas.  He's already walking back to us.

"He says there's a guy a couple of streets over we can talk to about—"  Jonas' words fall off when he sees the look on Apollon's face.  He glances over his shoulder toward the entrance.  A swear word escapes his lips.  Then they both have me by the arms and we're running for the back, bowling people over as we go.

We blast through the back door and into an alley, take a hard left, and run for all we're worth.  We actually step on beggars in our flight attempt.

"I take it you know those guys?" I ask as we run.  I can hear the sounds of pursuit not that far behind us.  We've got a lead, but I don't know if it's going to be enough.

"Grey's," Jonas supplies, panting.  That's all he needs to say.  If anyone is on Grey's hit list, it's us.  Even scarier… does he know what Apollon did?

I'm wondering what they're doing here, how many of them are left alive… but I suppose Grey has a pretty big reach, and he has men in more places than Outpost Two.  He may have representatives here to sell or buy slaves, or make other seedy business transactions.  He may have an entire base of operations.  Who knows?  Whatever reason, it's a bad thing for us.  We're struggling to escape, what with the weight of our packs, but we dare not ditch them.  The things inside might mean life or death, more so here in this wasteland than out in the wilderness.  But I think our pursuers are gaining.  We can't keep going like this.  And odds are, they are better armed than we are.  We have a gun, but how many bullets could it have left?

We barrel around a corner.  "The roof," Apollon gasps.  He and Jonas look at each other and put on a burst of speed, getting ahead of me.  It gives me a second to glance upward, and the roof line is quite high—higher than I think we can possibly reach.  But they skid to a halt in front of me, crouching, grasping each other's hands, and I see what they are doing.  It frightens the hell out of me, but I leap, as expected, onto the canopy they've made with their arms.  They catapult me upward.  I fly toward the roof, and hit it smack in the middle with my stomach.  I claw and grapple, trying to find a handhold, and finally do.  I cut my hand in the process, but I manage to get up.  I ditch my pack and reach over the edge to get hold of Jonas, who is standing on Apollon's shoulders.  I help him climb up, but then Apollon is on his own, and it's too far down.  I'm thinking our plan has failed just as Jonas practically tosses me headfirst off the edge.  I suppress a shriek as I realize he still has me by the ankles.  Apollon unceremoniously scrambles up me, and they haul me back so quickly I feel my stomach lurch.  We lay flat, and I'm trying to catch my breath and steady the rush of dizziness from too much blood to my head.  Heavy footsteps rush by on the pavement below us.  We listen to them move off, and remain quiet for a long time.

When I am finally beginning to feel safe, I lift myself up on my elbows, still laying straight between Jonas and Apollon.  I'm about to make a comment about never having been used as a rope before, when Apollon laughs.

"Just like old times," he says, meeting Jonas' gaze over my shoulders.  Then he looks at me.  "Bet you never thought you'd get an actual real-life reenactment of the story."

"You told her the story?"  Jonas frowns.  "I'm hurt.  That's our story."

Apollon just grins.  "It's our story, now."  He makes a little circling motion with his finger that groups the three of us together.  Then he pushes himself to sitting and starts to climb up.  “'And now gentlemen, all for one, one for all—that is our motto, is it not?'”

Jonas and I just look at each other.  He offers me a hand up.  I grab my pack and,  suppressing smiles, we follow Apollon's lead, beginning to pick our way across the rooftop.

Chapter 22:  Let’s Go for a Drive

The sun is sinking and the evening has become cold.  Wind whips across the rooftop, but we've decided we're probably safer here than buying a room.  We've found a place where we can sink back against an upper level wall, and we can still have a good view of the street below us.

"I know you're drawn to the tower, Eden..." Jonas is saying, "but I really think we need to cut our losses and get out of here.  Grey's men are going to be on the lookout for us, now, and there's likely more of them than just the ones we ran into.”  He glances at Apollon now, and I catch the meaning.  Jonas doesn’t know that Apollon told me so many things.  He continues without mentioning anything of the sort.  “We're rid of Jacob and Taylor now.  There's no reason to keep up this ruse."

I stare across at him in the growing darkness.  I can feel Apollon's eyes on both of us, sense his uneasiness through the way he shifts his weight.  I open my mouth to say something, but he speaks first:

"Remember, Jonas," he says, "Miranda and Neveah are still in the Outpost.  If we're giving up on this, we're giving up on them, too."

Jonas' eyes dart to him.  "Let's be honest," he says after a brief pause.  He glances at me before he continues, but he does not remain looking at me when he speaks.  "It doesn't really matter what we do.  It took the Sentries what?  Was it nine days?  To respond the first time, I mean.  We've been almost a month just getting here.  So either they've managed to continue to fight them off, or they haven't.  If they have, they can probably keep on doing it.  I don't see why they couldn't.  If not, then nothing we do is going to make a difference."

"You don't know," I say before Apollon can answer, and even though my words are spoken softly, my friends must hear the weight in them.  They both look at me, trying to read my face in the growing darkness.  I clear my throat and push onward before I can lose the courage.  I don't really know what to say or how to explain it, so I just spit it out.  "There was a hand in the snow.  After the battle.  A human hand.  It looked like... there was a flying thing that crashed.  The person must have been on the flying thing."

Silence passes over the rooftops as though it has been brushed on by the stroke of an unseen hand.  My friends look at me, and look at each other, and look at me again.  I can see so many questions in their eyes—questions I cannot answer because I, too, am asking them.

After a long time, I say, "It could have been an erasee, being moved to a drop zone.  That's what Matt said."

They look at me doubtfully, shifting, swallowing down bile.  Anger flashes across Jonas' face.  He stands up, though there is nowhere to go.  He just turns away from us.  I know that feeling.  I remember feeling it myself, when I first saw the hand and thought of what it might mean.

I stand and walk to his side, the old sheets of tin creaking underfoot.  I put my hand on his shoulder and say nothing.  He's stiff as a board, but after a moment he softens and puts his arm around me, drawing me nearer.  He leans in, pressing his mouth against my hair.  I close my eyes and wonder how everything can feel so OK when it is clearly not.

When we finally come back to sit down, Apollon throws me a funny look.  I do my best to ignore it.  "I think—"  I've only begun to get the words out of my mouth when we hear the rumble approaching below us.  I fall silent and we all freeze.  It's a motor.  It comes right up to our building.  Some sort of vehicle has come to a halt, but the motor is still running.  There's the sound of a door from the building across the street, and then voices.  We crouch down low on the roof and crawl to the edge to get a look.

Below on the street, there are two men dressed in white.  One of them wears a purple doo rag on his head—probably some symbol of gang authority.  They are talking to a third man, who does not wear any particularly identifying type of clothing.  He appears to be a shop owner.  They're arguing, but the shop owner is doing so timidly, as though he's afraid of the other two men.  After a moment we begin to understand that he's given them some money, and they don't think that it's enough.

"Look," Jonas says, nodding to the idling motorcycle below us.  It has a little cart attached to its side, big enough for a second person to ride in.  "Two on the bike, one in the cart," he whispers.

I give him a withering look.  "You want to steal a motorcycle from a gangbanger."

Jonas smiles.  "How's he going to catch us?"

"Nonono."  I shake my head.  "He doesn't have to when he has three hundred friends with the exact same fashion sense."

Apollon laughs through his nose, rolling his eyes.  "We could get to the next city," he suggests.  He and Jonas exchange smiles.  I'm beginning to regret throwing my lot in with these two.

But Jonas is frowning.  "Probably not," he mumbles.  "Maybe halfway.  Not enough aether."

I'm half relieved, but I do a double-take.  There's an open box strapped on the back, a glass globe just peeking out.  Now it's too much.  This might be Fate.  I pinch Jonas' arm.  "There's an aether trap."

Apollon rolls onto his back, looking idly up at the sky.  "It won't do us any good if we don't know how to use it," he says.  "Jonas and I just sell them.  Now if Miranda was here..."

"I can do it."

They both frown at me.

"Since when?" asks Jonas.

"Since now.  I can use it, alright.  I just... can."  I'm beginning to learn to trust my instincts.  When I looked at that trap, I experienced the same familiar twinge that I felt the first time I held a knife.  The first time I shot a rifle.

"...Alright," says Jonas slowly.  He looks at Apollon.

My blonde friend shrugs.  "She is a badass."

I'm not sure when aether traps became the forte of badasses, but I'm not going to argue with them.  This might be too good to be true.  And though, not that long ago I wasn't prepared to leave here, the idea is suddenly enticing.  It feels right.  I want to jump on this moment and ride it.

The three of us look at each other.  Our grins dart through the darkness.

"Holy shit," Apollon says.  "Let's do this."

There is literally no time to think about our choice, because the two guys are now beating the third, and will likely be finished soon.  Now or never.  Either we steal this motorcycle, or possibly stay in Minneapolis forever.  We can't escape the boundary anymore, and the roads are dangerous.  This motorcycle might be the only way we get through.  We all seem to reach the conclusion at the same instant.  Apollon rushes to grab our packs and we strap them on, then drop as silently as we can into the shadows on the pavement below.

"I drive," Apollon says under his breath, and it makes sense, because I can't imagine him fitting in the side-cart.  I climb on behind him, Jonas is in the cart, the motor revs and we dart off down the street to the angry shouts of the gangbangers.  Apollon zigs and zags as gunshots follow after us, but in less than a moment we're out of range and headed for the south side of Minneapolis.

***

We pass through the gates without slowing, all of us keeping our heads ducked, faces turned away from the seemingly inanimate Sentries.  The road is a cataclysm of cracked asphalt.  The bike launches over each chunk, jarring our teeth and spines.  Very quickly, we seem to be out and away from civilization, but this is the road, and we all know better than to expect the same peace we felt in the wilderness.

We drive for an hour, maybe two, without so much as seeing another soul.  This is the lure maybe.  Bait.  There is nothing here.  You're safe.  We are all scanning the darkness for any sign of movement.  For the road bandits that prey upon travelers, killing and stealing.  Our muscles are tense, our senses alert despite our weariness.  We will not let down our guard.

We stop to give our bodies a rest and to fill the aether trap.  Further away from the city, we're likely to have better luck.  There's little aether to be had in most cities, because the excessive trapping sucks the life from the ground, making it dead.  Here, I might actually be able to get us some aether, if I can rig this thing right.

I fiddle with the dials.  They don't make much sense to me, but I ignore my ignorance and go for what feels right.  I'm setting the clamps into the ground when Jonas says, "Uh, you know if you don't do that right..."

"I know."  I hit the go button and stand up, but do not step back.

Jonas' fingers curl around my upper arm, just avoiding pulling me back.  He doesn't want to offend me with his lack of confidence in my aether trapping skills, but he's also ready to yank me to safety.  Not that he'd have time if I screw this up.

The trap flares like it might work, but then it hisses.  Steam pours out its sides like an impatient puff from a dragon.

Jonas, having jerked me back, gives me a guilty smile.

I whap him on the arm, then step forward to mess with the trap again.

"It's clearly no good," Jonas says, looking off down the road.  "You tried, Eden.  But there's no aether here.  C'mon."

I glance back at Apollon, and he's just watching.  He sees my look and a slow grin creeps across his face.  "Go on, then."

I give Jonas a sly look, then kneel down again at the aether trap.  "There's aether," I say.  "It's just deeper than we want it to be."

He stops from a few paces away and looks back.  "Not a good idea.  You're gonna blow us all up."

"Stand back, then," I say over my shoulder.

Now Jonas is scowling at Apollon.  "Way to go," he mutters to his friend.  "A few weeks in the woods, and she's caught your crazies."

"Hey," Apollon protests.  "I'm the sensible one."

"No, I'm—"

"I'm the sensible one," I interrupt Jonas.  Then I hit the go button and hope to hell that we don't die.

The aether trap charges up and starts humming.  The hum grows to a buzz.  The buzz morphs into a rattle.  The little trap is wobbling around on the road, clinging to the ground with its prongs, but it sounds like the glass could break at any second.

"Uh..." says Apollon.

Jonas swears softly.

I'm holding my breath, so I don't speak at all.  The ground beneath me rumbles.

A flare of blue light breaks the darkness as aether swims into the trap.  The flood rushes in, a typhoon-like swirl of half-gas, raising quickly to the top of the canister.  It hits the top and the blue illumination surges even brighter.  Shimmer dances in the air around the trap.

"Uh..." Apollon says again.

Jonas has never stopped swearing.

I'm thinking we might want to start running.

It stops.  The light remains brighter than normal, but the aether stills inside, the rattling stops, and the thing has clearly shut down as it is intended to.  I turn to my friends smiling.  "No probs."

They both narrow their eyes at me and say nothing.

I hit the clamp release and swing the trap up by its handle.  "Let's get this puppy refueled."

Apollon finds the motorcycle's fuel tank and sets the refill lock into position for me.

Jonas, leaning up against the bike next to me with arms crossed, says, "What did you do?  I thought we were discount sausage for a minute there."

"I overcharged it," I answer without thinking.  My voice has far more confidence than I would expect.  I glance at him, and he must see that I'm as surprised by my words as he is.

"Interesting," he says, eyeing me.

I shrug and half-smile as I tip the aether up to the lock-chamber.  "We might need the extra.  We have a long way to go, and we might not have a chance to get more.  Once we get to the next city, we'll need to get around, too."

He nods, watching the half-gas swirl and begin sucking down into the chamber.  Then he glances past me and his expression changes to alarm.  "Company!"  He's drawing his gun.  He fires over my shoulder at the oncoming vehicle.  It swerves, blasts past us, screeches to a halt, spinning back to face us.

"Holy hell," Apollon yells beside me, trying to get the aether lock to disengage.  It takes a moment for the seals to shut.  Meanwhile, the car—if you could call it that; it's some sort of insect-looking thing, really—speeds toward us from the opposite direction.  As I pull the half-full aether chamber from the motorcycle, I see the men getting ready to leap off the back.  Jonas stops firing as he realizes the vehicle's armor plating is only making the bullets bounce off.  He swings the gun back the other way and fires at a motorcycle speeding toward us.  We're caught in the middle with nowhere to go.

Apollon has our motorcycle started.  "Come on."

Jonas and I waste no time.  I climb on back and he's in the cart.  The motorcycle peels out as Apollon guns the motor.  We zip forward, toward the enemy motorcycle.  Jonas is still firing at it.  It seems to be armored, too, but he hits the driver in the leg and the bike turns sideways, skidding at high speed across the pavement.

Apollon swerves and just avoids crashing into it.

"Nice driving!" I yell.  I look over my shoulder and the vehicle is gaining on us.  It tries to dodge around the other motorcycle as well, clips the front wheel, and keeps coming.  Jonas aims his gun at it but does not pull the trigger.  It's just wasting bullets.  I can see the wheels turning in his mind, calculating, trying to ascertain some weakness to exploit.  Another glance at the metal monster behind us convinces me that there is none.

I become suddenly aware of the half-full aether trap swinging in my hand.  "Can this thing go any faster?" I yell at Apollon.

"If you don't mind a little air," he hollers back sarcastically.  He's right, though.  Any faster and we might lose control on this uneven ground.

"Just do it!"  My fingers fumble with the dials of the aether trap.

He doesn't reply.  Just revs the motor.  The bike lurches underneath us and accelerates, bouncing wildly over the broken concrete.  Jonas has to lower his gun to hang on.  He glances at me and sees what I’m doing.  His eyes go wide.  He drops and tucks into a little ball in the sidecar.

Clutching Apollon with one arm, I swing the aether chamber over to our left side, leaning to dangle it over the speeding pavement.  I kick the go button with one toe and drop the trap simultaneously.  The chamber snaps out of my hand as the prongs engage with the ground.  I want desperately to look back and see the collision, but my instincts know better.  I clamp my eyes and shield my face against Apollon's back.

There’s the crash of metal and glass, an explosion, and a big whoomph as heat rushes at my back, too close for comfort.  The air, for just a moment, is hot and scented of chemical vapor.  Then cold air rushes into my face.  We're still launching over the pavement.  I breathe the freshness of the night.  Flames crackle in the distance behind us, and there is a smaller, subsequent explosion.  Apollon slows the motorcycle and brings it to a halt.  We risk a look back.

My friends stare at my impromptu bonfire with open mouths.

"Holy hell, Eden," Apollon finally whispers.

I manage to subdue my shock, take a deep breath.  "I guess aether trapping is a little badass," I say, as lightly as I can manage.

Jonas' eyes flick to me, followed by a little smile.  He pats me on the shoulder.  "Let's get the hell out of here."

"Agreed," Apollon says.  In only a second we are again flying through the darkness.

Chapter 23:  Boneyard

The stench of death fills my nostrils, making me want to puke.  The only reason I don't is because my stomach is already empty.  We had to stop, twice, nearly an hour ago, so that all of us could vomit.  It's impossible to see this and not.  The bloat, the sagging, putrid flesh, the escaping decomposing gasses and protruding bones.  At least it's winter.  If it were summer, it would be far worse.

Apollon navigates the twists between the piles of bodies as quickly as he can.  The road is narrow, barely existent in some places.  We had to drive right over some bodies a while back.

"How do they... how do they get here?"  I manage.  It's taken me this long to speak.

Apollon seems not to hear me.  After a moment, Jonas quietly says, "I'm not sure.  Maybe some of the people who die in the city are hauled here.  There's nowhere else to put the bodies, is there?  But I think a lot of them are travelers, too."  He eyes a fresh corpse we pass.  A pack is still strapped to its back, torn open and empty of its belongings, like the gut of the body next to it.

We fall silent again, choking down the defiled air.

Movement rushing over the top of a pile of limbs makes me scream.  Jonas raises his gun and fires three times.  Three bodies join the pileup in an instant.  He checks his gun, frowns, and tucks it away.  “That’s it for the ammo.”

I clamp my jaw, breathing through my nose.  My chest feels heavy.  It's hard to drag any air in at all.

"It's OK," Jonas says quietly, touching my arm.

I turn my wide eyes to him.

"They're crazies mostly that hunt out here," he says.  "You can't be here long without losing it.  The ones that are a real threat are on the open road."

That doesn't stop the chill in my spine.  I glance back at the three men he's just shot.  Their faces are marked with dark lines—paint, or blood?  Either way, they don't look human.

I try to breathe normally, but I'm on edge.  I can feel that Apollon has gone stiff as well.  His back muscles are taut.  He must be exhausted by now, but he keeps his eyes on the road.  It's halfway through the night.  How much longer before we get where we're going?  Before we get out of this nightmare?

Eventually, the bodies give way to open road, and after that, it's not far until we see the dull glow of the city.  We drive up to the gates, our hoods pulled around our faces.  It's still the late hours of the night, or the early hours of the morning.  Either way, it's dark, and people should be sleeping.  They're not.

Inside is chaos.  That's the only way to describe it.  People are whooping, running about.  At first, I think that something must be happening.  Then I see that there's no direction to it, no real emotion.  This is a city that has entirely lost it.  People are breaking things, breaking each other.  Laughing wildly.  Painting graffiti on a wall.  Dancing and jumping over a bonfire.  Drinking and stumbling down the street.  Talking to shadows.  Crooning tunelessly and thumping a metal can.  Fist-fighting.  Making faces at a Sentry.  It could be a party gone entirely wrong, only it's all disconnected.  Random.  Just plain weird.

We drive into Damoynz, seeing weirder and weirder things the further we go.  The motorcycle is starting to sputter now—not a good sign.  We've only just made it here, so we're lucky, but we'll need more aether to go on.  Turns out it doesn't matter.

A wave of stampeding people comes at us out of nowhere.  They're rushing forward, screaming like banshees, brandishing sticks and teeth. The motorbike refuses to go.  We've no choice but to abandon it, grab our packs, and run for our lives.

We manage to get out of the way of the mob.  They don't seem to be after us in particular, but they swarm over the bike and it disassembles beneath them in a matter of seconds.  They take its parts with them, leaving nothing.

When we think it's clear, we come out and look at the spot where our motorcycle was a moment ago.  There's nothing left but a single bolt.  I pick it up and hold it in my palm.  "Would they have done this to us, too?"

Apollon makes a noise between his teeth.  We turn and start walking.  I'm really not sure where we're going.  Beyond everything else, we need a safe place to rest.  To sleep off this night and then talk out our plans with clear minds.  I glance above us, looking for a rooftop that might be suitable, but I don't see anything that looks like we'd be able to reach it.

Damoynz is less packed than Minneapolis, but I still feel smothered by the looming buildings, dense population, and narrow streets.  It smells just as bad here, too.  We wander, staying away from people, all of our eyes scanning for a place to rest.  I feel like I could just fall over right where I am.

"We're going to have to sleep in shifts," Jonas says under his breath.  "Maybe we can just find an empty alley, and one of us can stand guard."

I don't like the idea, but I think I could sleep anywhere about now.  I have a horrible headache swelling behind my eyes.  Everything seems disjointed and out of place.  It's definitely time for us to stop. So after Apollon and I nod stiffly, we find an alley and settle down like dogs.  Jonas volunteers to take the first watch.  He remains standing, probably because he would fall asleep if he sat down.  I don't bother unrolling my blankets, but use them like a pillow instead.  I'm asleep the second I'm horizontal on the pavement.

Sometime later, I wake suddenly with an image of a white tower burned into my mind.  I glance around and find that Apollon is on duty and Jonas is curled up against the wall.  Daylight is creeping into the alley, dusky and red-tinted.  I yawn and Apollon turns toward me.  He offers me a tired smile.

I walk down the alley and find a place to pee behind some old boxes.  I return, still yawning.  "My turn."

Apollon just shakes his head.  "I got a little rest," he says, keeping his voice low.  "I think we should get out of this place as soon as Jonas wakes up."

I frown at him and peek curiously out the end of the alley.  "That bad?"

"These people are bonkers," Apollon says.  "Whatever you do, don't drink the water.  Or eat anything from here.  Something must be causing it."

I make a noise and lean back against a wall, crossing my arms.  "We need to figure out what we're doing.  I still think there has to be a way to help the Outpost."

Jonas groans suddenly, possibly in protest of being woke up.  His eyes are still clamped shut.  He throws one hand over them.  "Seriously," he complains.  "Can we not just forget about the Outpost, Eden?"

I glare at him as he sits up.  He returns my glare.

"What do you think we could possibly do now?" Apollon asks, sounding reasonable.  "It kind of seems like that didn't work out."

"I don't know."  But my gut instinct is still the same.  "Maybe...  I think I need to go to the tower again."

Apollon shakes his head.

"I don't think we could get back there, even if we wanted to," Jonas says, standing and stretching.  "Half of Minneapolis has us on their hit lists, now.  It would be stupid to try to go back there."

"Not there.  Here.  This tower."

Their eyebrows come down in the middle as they consider me.

Finally, Jonas says, "Is there really a point to that?  We were amazingly lucky to find anything before.  But now that we've found it, and it's gone..."

"I just... I really think I need to go there," I insist.  "I know it doesn't make sense.  You're right.  I just think... maybe there's something.  An answer within the tower itself.  I just know the tower is the answer.  It doesn't matter which one."

The boys share a look, then sigh in unison.  The tower it is.

We pick our way through the streets toward the center of Damoynz.  "After this," says Jonas, "we have to get out of this city.  I wish we could get out of civilization altogether...."

Apollon and I give him a look of longing and understanding.  When we first went into the wilderness, it was wide and frightening.  I felt exposed.  But now, I just feel suffocated.  "I think I even miss the damned bears," I say with a little laugh.

"The bears maybe," Apollon says, "but not the foxes."  He rubs the lingering sore on his wrist, more out of habit than because it's giving him any trouble.  "Freakin' foxes," he mutters.

"Freakin' foxes," I agree, but I can't help the little smile that twitches at my lips.

Jonas eyes me from the side and says nothing.  I'm about to recount the story for him when the tower comes into view in front of us.  I close my mouth on my words and pick up the pace.

We hesitate on the steps and listen.  Inside seems quiet.  Outside, however, there is a group of clearly unstable people tormenting a cat.  I want to lay into them, but they outnumber us.  Jonas and Apollon catch my dark look, and share it.  But Apollon shakes his head at me, just a little.  I turn back toward the tower.

"Wait here," I say quietly, glancing toward the group.  I head into the tower on my own before my friends can protest.  Nevertheless, I hear Jonas' voice trailing me, warning me not to go too far.

I go to the stairs and start climbing.  Everything here is exactly the same as it was in Minneapolis.  I don't know what I expect to find.  A hidden code?  A secret compartment?  Why am I so drawn to this place?  I ascend the stairs slowly, trying to take everything in as I go.  The smooth marble floors.  The walls rising level upon level.  The open middle chamber that seems deeper and deeper the further I go up.

I come around a corner, and a man is sitting on the steps in front of me.  He's rocking back and forth, muttering to himself, or singing a tune under his breath.  I stand there and watch him, and he doesn't seem to see me.

I can't go on without stepping around him, and I don't want to startle him and cause a confrontation.  So I say gently, "Hello.  I'm just going to go by you."

His eyes dart to me, widening.  I feel myself tense, remembering the boy who attacked me by the fire barrels in the Outpost.  The same wild glare lives in this man's blue eyes.  Automatically, I adjust my stance in preparation to defend myself.

The man stands up suddenly, but he doesn't approach.  He says, in a shaky voice, "Lily, don't be afraid.  You've found what you're looking for."

I take a moment to dredge up an answer.  The man's eyes are shifting, all over the place.  I don't trust his nervousness.  Now that he's standing, I can see that he's built like a fighter.  There's a scar across his cheek, and more on his arms.  He's seen his share of action, I'd say, and he's probably formidable.  But my head is swirling again, calming me, even though there is no way I should feel calm.

I look up the stairs past him.  "Are your friends up there?"

He just says, "Lily, don't be afraid.  You've found what you're looking for."

"I got that," I say.  "What about your friends?"

"Lily, don't be afraid."

I move past him before he can finish, and continue climbing the stairs.  "Hello," I call to the levels above me.  "It's Lily.  You can come out."

There's no answer.  Behind me, the man trails in my wake, muttering over and over again, "Lily, don't be afraid.  Lily, don't be afraid."

I make it all the way to the top of the stairs, where there is nothing but an empty, round little room.  There’s a door on the other side, and another set of steps beyond that, steeper than before.  I take them up and find a tiny room with four open doorways looking onto a balcony that wraps all the way around.  There is no one else here, but the sweeping view of the city below is enough to make me clamp my eyes shut and grab onto something.

From far below I hear Jonas calling for me.  I turn back down the stairs, and glare at the man who has trailed me.  "That's Jason," I say.  "He's with me, see."  I'm not sure what effect I expect this to have, but I expect it to do something.

The man's eyes dart around wildly.  There's something going on in there, but what?  "Lily," he says, his voice climbing to a new level of urgency, "don't be afraid.  You've found what you're looking for."

"And what is that?" I almost shriek at him.  "Tell me.  Tell me what I'm looking for!"

"Lily," he says again.

I run down the stairs, pushing past him.  "I'm here," I call downward as I come into hearing range.  My voice is full of annoyance.  "Apparently I've found what I'm looking for."

Jonas and Apollon meet me at the bottom of the stairs with quizzical looks.  They eye the guy following me.

"No way," says Apollon.

The guy gets to the bottom of the stairs behind me, sees Jonas, and almost falls over.  He scrambles back on his hands, his fingers clutching at the stairs as though he's seen a ghost.

"So... you found a crazy," says Apollon, interpreting the man's behavior as being independent of Jonas.

"I found a crazy," I agree.

Jonas gives me a dark look and goes to help the man up, taking him by his forearm.  He gazes up at Jonas with an open mouth, having fallen completely silent.  Then he just stands there and stares.  Really stares.

After an awkward moment, Apollon grins at Jonas.  "He likes you.  I always knew you drew crazies."

Jonas throws him a look.  "Drew you, didn't I?"

"See," Apollon agrees.

I put my hand over my eyes and rub, trying to think.  What the hell do I do now?  "This is no good," I complain.  "Whatever has happened to him, he's completely lost it.  I can't get him to make any sense."

"Does he talk at all?" Apollon asks.

"Kind of," I say.  But now he's stopped talking.  He just keeps staring at Jonas, like he doesn't even hear anything we're saying.  When we finally leave the tower, he trails Jonas like a lost puppy.  Like there's nothing else in the world.

"Maybe he’ll come around if we get him out of here," Apollon speculates reassuringly.  "There's obviously something in this city that makes people crazy.  Once we've reduced his exposure, maybe he'll be normal again."

"Maybe," I say, but I'm not convinced.

"At any rate," Apollon says, "we really do need to leave before we share his fate."

Jonas and I glance at each other.  Fate.

We start hunting for the way out of the city.  It looks like we're going to keep moving.

As we wander through the streets, Apollon glances at our stray, then at me.  "Does he have a name?"

"No."

"Let's call him George."

We share a look.  George it is.

The southern exit is blocked by a group of men and some cars.  We wander toward them for a closer look, but keep a safe distance.  They're lolling, a couple of men sitting on the hood of one of the cars, swinging their legs, looking bored.  Another group of four plays cards on the ground at the side.  Funny thing is, none of them look crazy.

"I'll go talk to them," Apollon says.  He makes off before we can stop him.

"What do you think?" I ask Jonas as we watch Apollon approach the men.

He shakes his head.  "I think we're not getting out of this city without their consent."  He nods past them.  "There's more of them outside the gate."

I squint, and he's right.  There's more.  Maybe a lot more.

We watch Apollon talk to the men.  They study him, but don't seem unfriendly.  They talk for a moment, then Apollon turns and walks back toward us, looking grim.

"This isn't good," he says.  "They claim to be an 'escort' service.  If you pay them enough, they'll take you right to the next city.  They even guarantee they'll get you there safely."

"And if you don't pay them?" I ask.

Jonas glances at me, apparently already having caught on to what I have not.  "You won't get there at all."

"They're the ones you'd need to be kept safe from," Apollon agrees.  "Probably just easier for them to rob travelers this way.  The ones who can pay do.  The ones who can't pay, who are desperate enough, try to get onto the road anyway, and get killed and robbed."

"How much do they want?" I ask.

"A lot more than we have.  And even if we could pay their fare, they run the convoy once a week.  It’s three days from now.  We’re stuck."

I purse my lips and look up at him.  "I don’t know if we’ll last three days in this city.  Can't you like... charm them with those dimples or something?"

Apollon throws his head back and laughs.  He gives me a sly look.  "A lot more likely you could charm them than I could."

"Alright then."  I start marching toward the gate to the sound of Jonas and Apollon cursing behind me.  Clearly neither of them expected me to try.  They rush to follow along behind me, and George takes up the rear.

"Hi there," I say as I come to a stop before the pair of bored-looking men lounging on the car.  Better to deal with the ones who would like to quit sitting around and do something.  "How much exactly does it cost to get the hell out of here?"  These guys are not who I really need to talk to anyway.  I just need to entertain them and give them some bait—enough to get to talk to whoever is really in charge.  I already know it’s going to cost to get out of this city.  I’m not in denial.  And when it comes down to it, I'm willing to barter away a lot of things in order to make it to the next city without having to fight for my life.  Luckily, I’m not without resources.  I’ve learned the value of information, if the gold in my backpack is not enough.

The pair of them look at each other after summing me up.  One of them grins at me.  "Probably a lot more than you have, sweetheart."

"We'll never know if you don't name a price," I say, grinning right back at him, "now will we, darling?"

He wiggles in his spot, looking pleased to have something to play with, if nothing else.  "Train doesn’t leave for three days,” he says.  “But you wanna get on it?  I could name a price for you."  He glances at Apollon, Jonas, and George.  “Don't know about your friends.  But definitely for you."

I step on Jonas' toe, and elbow Apollon as both of them start to step forward.  They restrain themselves... for now.

"I guess your boss isn't into making a real profit, then," I say, glancing past him, where a group of guys trails after a man who is clearly in charge.  He's wiry, starting to go grey, medium build.  But he carries himself with authority, and the others look a little humbled in his presence.  The guy I'm talking to looks over his shoulder at the man in question and falls silent.

When he turns back to me, his eyes narrow.  "Now don’t be jerking me around, gorgeous.  You think you really have something that’ll interest my boss?  ‘Cause he doesn’t like when people mess around.”

I nod.

He looks me over again.  “How much are we talking?"

I shrug.  "How much of a guarantee are you giving that we'll get to the next city without any trouble?"

"Now see, sugar," he says, "You just don’t look like you have deep enough pockets.  I think you might just be jerking me around, after all.  I’m not even sure you have anything that's gonna be worth my time."  But the way he smiles says that even this distraction is worth his time.  He's bored as hell.  Not that it matters much.

"I have a gold ring," I say, and wait for his response.

He looks me up and down.  "Now where would you get a gold ring from?" he asks, both hesitant and amused.

“It was a Christmas present.”

“A what?”

"My boyfriend," I amend, rolling my eyes.  "Where do rings usually come from?"

He looks doubtfully from Apollon to Jonas.  "One of them?"

I snort.  "An old boyfriend.  Does it matter where it came from?"

He shakes his head, looking me up and down one more time.  "I guess I might give you a gold ring if I had one," he finally says.

I toss him my best sultry smile.  "You might not need to.  Now, will a gold ring do?"  I don’t expect it to be enough for my purposes, but it’s pretty decent bait.

He looks a little dazed for a second.  Then he breaks into action, climbing down from the hood of the car.  "Let's have a look.”

I reluctantly fish through my pack to find my pouch of rings, and, shielding it from view, pull out one.  It's the lion.  Beauty is the first thing to go.  I hand it to him, deciding it's better to feign trust right now.  If these guys wanted to, they could take everything from us.  They're armed to the teeth, and they outnumber us by two dozen at least.

The guy looks at his friend, then back at me.  "Let me go see," he says, then hesitates.  “Just… if he comes to talk to you, better to take the deal he offers and not argue.”  He winks, takes my ring, and wanders off toward the boss.

I glance back at Apollon.  He licks his lips, watching the conversation in the distance.  "Careful, Eden," he murmurs, turning his eyes down on me.

I nudge him again with my elbow and give him a smile.  We don't have a lot of choices right now.  We can't stay here, and we can't go back.  Whatever this takes, we need to get out.  I'm surprised Jonas isn't chewing me out by now, but a quick glance at him reveals that blank face that I can't read.  He's just... intense.  I hate when I can't tell what he's thinking.

The guy walks back toward us, leading his boss.  The older man has a long look at each of us, and holds up my ring in one hand.  "This is nice," he says with an easy manner.  "Enough for two of you.  Come back in three days.  I’ll just hang onto it to save your place.”  He puts it in his pocket.

“Why don’t you do that,” I say.  “Only, we want to go today.  And there’s four of us.  So I guess we need to talk.”

The guy from the hood of the car grimaces and looks away.  His boss’ eyes narrow on me, summing me up.  “Your boyfriend’s going to need to be considerably richer,” he says.  “Or should I say you’re going to need to get a lot better at thieving?”

I sigh.  Why does everyone always assume I steal things?  “Have you heard about the things happening in the Outposts?” I ask, changing the subject.

Again, his eyes narrow.  I have the feeling he is trying to see through me, figure me out.  Good luck.

“We’ve heard a lot of rumors from up there,” he says, finally.  “All of it sounds like complete bullshit.”

I study the boss’ face, then glance at the other guy.  He’s not as good at hiding his interest.  I’m onto something.  I look back at the boss, smile, and shrug.  “We just came from Three.”

He snorts.  “Likely.”

“Have you ever been there?”

He crosses his arms, a warning.  “I have.”

Perfect.  “Then you know some of the people.”

“A few,” he says stiffly.  “But names have a way of getting around.  They mean nothing.”

I nod.  “Have a look at the inside of that ring.”

He frowns, but he pulls the ring from his pocket and gives it a closer inspection.

Meanwhile, Jonas tenses beside me, leaning slightly forward, though there’s no way he’s going to read anything from here.

The boss’ eyes dart from the inscription to my face.  He’s reconsidering his assumption.

I smile again.  “Turns out my boyfriend is considerably richer,” I say.  “Or I’m better at thieving than you thought.”

He rubs the gold between his thumb and forefinger, but he keeps looking at me.  I’ve just put myself in a potentially dangerous situation, but it had to be done.  I move on before he can think too much about ways to profit from this knowledge.

“We can tell you the real story,” I offer, though it will be missing some key facts that aren’t believable anyway.  “And there’s three more rings to go with that one.  One for each of us.  But we leave today.  Right now.  All of us.”

“That sounds like a pretty good deal,” he says, then follows up as expected.  “But say I believe you.  I could easily get ten times the gold out of Matthew for your safe return.”  He smiles now, for the first time.

He probably could, if Matt’s still alive.  I push the doubt away, and with it, the longing to be back in the Outpost.  “Possibly.  But it’s a long way to Outpost Three.  There are no guarantees.  And if you had any idea what Matt has been up to, you’d know better than to mess with him.”

He doesn’t react outright—just continues to squint at my face.  But any mercenary worth his salt would know better than to cross someone like Matt.  As tempting as the idea might be, the risks are not worth it.  I’m offering him a far sweeter deal, and he knows it.

I shrug innocently, glancing to the side where some of his men are still playing cards.  “Or we could gamble for it and you could see what else you could get out of me.”

“Ha!” he barks, throwing back his head.  He holds out his hand.  “Give me the rings.”

I consider him for only a second before deciding the only way to go is to hand over the goods.  I rummage in my pack and carefully pick out three more rings for him, not allowing him to see the one I’m keeping—the otter.  I tuck it deep into my pack, trying not to think of Matt.  I can't help but remember the day we went for the drive and he showed the otters to me, playing in the ice and snow.  It went a long way to dispelling my fear of the wilderness.  Now all I have left of him is one ring and a few memories.  Sighing, I drop the other three rings into the boss’ waiting palm.

He eyes me, then examines the rings, taking a moment to read their inscriptions.  A wry smile stretches across his weathered face as he holds up the crow ring, glances from me to the card players, and turns away.  Smart guy.  He pockets the rings.  As he walks away, he makes a little swirling gesture in the air with one hand.  Around us, his men whip into a sudden frenzy of motion, without so much as a word to get them going.

I soak in the awe of our apparent success.

Apollon pats me on the arm as we move forward.  "You sure about this?" he asks, under his breath.

"Pretty sure."

Jonas meets my eyes and shakes his head, like he can't believe me.  But he's not protesting.  He must agree with my assumption that we might actually make it to the next city alive.  “Let me deal with the story,” he says.  And he wanders off to join the boss while everyone else prepares the convoy.  George goes with him without so much as a glance back.  So Apollon and I stand quietly at a distance and try to make out the conversation taking place between Jonas and the boss.  But the boss’ back is turned to us, and as usual, Jonas’ face gives away nothing.  I stare at him, fascinated, until Apollon nudges me in the ribs and clears his throat.  Then I look away and pretend like I wasn’t staring.

In short order, we're all piled into the back of a truck, where we settle in against the cab.  Jonas says nothing of his conversation with the boss.  Our mercenary buddies form up around the truck.  There are more cars, and motorcycles, and another truck as well.  An entire convoy.  Looks like they really are serious about getting us to the next city.  We rumble along the old road toward the southeast.  To be honest, I have no idea where we are going except that it's away from here.  There is relief in the leaving, followed abruptly by panic.  A thought that has occurred a little too late.  What if Oscar is somewhere in that crazy city and we're leaving him behind?  Shouldn't we have looked for him?  My thoughts are completely irrational.  I have to smother them, stomp them down.  I buckle them all away inside my heart.

The journey takes hours.  We've been riding for a long while and I've been snoozing against Apollon's shoulder when the convoy stops for a break.  I open my eyes groggily and find that the sun is already sinking.  We won't get wherever we're going until nightfall, for sure.  It's not the best time to waltz into a strange city, but it's not like we have much of an option.  I raise my head sleepily and look across at Jonas, who is awake, alert, and quiet.  He's looking at our stray, and George is looking back at him.  The silence between them is thick with something that neither of them is capable of putting words to.  It leaves me chilled, uncertain, and strangely longing for a past I may never find.

I jump out of the truck to stretch my legs with the others and end up picking up my own stray.

"How's the ride?" asks the man that I spoke with earlier—the one who was sitting on the car.  He's clearly interested, and I'm not, but I don't think it would be wise to be rude right now.  Besides that, he may look tough, but I get the feeling he's harmless.  I'm learning to trust my instincts now, rather than looks.  So I humor him, and we chat on the side of the road about things that don't matter.  I manage to find out that we're headed for Saint Louis and that it will be a few more hours before our arrival.  He gives me a hesitating look.  Before I can ask about it, the vehicles come to life, and we split ways to climb aboard our separate transports.

The convoy continues on its way.  After about ten minutes, Jonas leans over and asks, "What is it?"

I shake my head.  "I don't know."  But I'm starting to get the feeling that Saint Louis might not be that much better than where we've come from.  I can feel my sense of unease seeping across the bed of the truck and into my friends.

Not much later, we're traveling in darkness, and not much after that, we're traveling to the incessant sound of gunfire.  From our group out into the darkness.  From the darkness toward us.  We make ourselves flat against the truck's bed, and hope that our protectors have the better skills and firepower.  It goes on and on... nerve-wracking at first, but after what seems an endless stretch of adrenaline and thumping hearts, it almost becomes boring.  I almost get used to it.  Not quite.  Eventually, the sounds die off, further in between blasts, further away.  Soon there is just the sound of the vehicles, and we're still moving steadily on our way.

I'm definitely ready to be out of the truck when we finally come to a halt.  I can hear the men, getting out of the vehicles, shouting to each other—not in alarm, but the subdued shouts of getting business done.  We stretch and climb out of the truck bed,  where we linger amongst the mercenary crews for just a moment.  The boss and some men, including my "friend", find us and herd us in the direction of the city gates.  About fifty yards off, we stop and stare.

The gates are open to the road.  A Sentry stands to the side, making me pull my hood carefully around my face.  But the Sentry is not the only guard.  Lurking around the gate, carrying silver-gleaming axes and wicked blades that were surely designed to frighten the hell out of people, is a group of women like I have never seen before.  Their stances are well-balanced, ready to fight.  Their mannerisms suggest the easy confidence gained in successful battle.  They're looking straight at us.  My first instinct is to run.

Apollon nudges me with one elbow.  "Amazons," he says.  "This is gonna be fun."

Chapter 24:  Girls Rule

Jonas looks at the mercenary leader and demands, "Who are these people?"

But apparently our deal is done.  "I guaranteed you would get here safely," the leader says, walking away.  "What happens to you once you're here has nothing to do with me."

His men quickly follow him, but the guy I talked to on the road glances back at me as he leaves.  "Rossanna," he whispers quickly.  The name barely makes it to me.  Before I can question him, he's gone.  They climb into their vehicles, turn them, and the convoy rumbles away.  We're on our own.

We exchange hesitant glances then walk toward the gates and the Amazons.

They have us surrounded before we complete our approach.  Their glares are full of poison, their teeth clenched and bared.  Surely they can't mean to kill us right here beneath the Sentry's watch.

"Welcome to Saint Louis," one of the women, apparently the leader of the group, says.  "We're your tour guides."  She flashes an evil grin.  "Come this way."

We're herded into the city, away from the Sentry.  The tension in the group is palpable.  They're waiting to spring.  I have no doubt that they mean to get us out of the Sentry's view, and then put an end to us.  We walk with them because we're outnumbered and we don't really have a choice.  But as we sink into the darkness around the corner of a building, I feel our time running out.  There's too many of them to fight.  No means of escape.  I'm grasping at straws, trying to think my way out of this.  Rossanna.  What does it mean?  Someone to find?  A helper?  I can't imagine how to get out of this mess to find a helper in the first place.  Our captors come to a stop and turn on us.  They're all going for their blades.  My friends reach for their weapons as well.

"Rossanna!"

Everyone freezes.

I search the faces of the women surrounding us.  They're hiding surprise.  "Rossanna," I say again, this time with more certainty.

Uneasy glances fly around the circle.

I find the eyes of the leader and insist, "I want to see her."

A low growl escapes her throat, but she turns and stalks away, leading us into the depths of Saint Louis.

We follow for blocks and blocks.  Always, our eyes are searching for a way out.  A convenient escape route.  But the streets are filled with more frightening women.  They march in little packs, armed to the teeth, always watching, patrolling.  I don't see a single male anywhere and I can't say that bodes well for my friends.

One thing I do notice about Saint Louis is that it doesn't stink, at least not as much as the other cities.  As a matter of fact, it's the cleanest place I've been.  The buildings are clearly taken care of, with obvious repairs to windows and roofs.  The only graffiti I see is one large, artful wall that proclaims, "Girls Rule".

We're marched into a wide plaza with manicured trees and planters filled with evergreen vines.  There's a large circular fountain with a statue of a man.  Someone has placed a collar around his stone neck.  The water is frozen, but clean.

"Kinky," whispers Apollon, before being silenced with a jab.

Beyond the fountain, six large columns raise the lit-up entrance of a grand building .  At its center is a tall dome, and above that a tower, and at the top, a waving pink banner scattered in silver stars.  But this is nothing compared to the ancient arch that stretches the night sky behind it, a marvel of engineering that could only have been built by the Forefathers.  Massive colored lights beam onto it from the ground below, carefully projecting their different colors onto it to create a metallic rainbow.  I almost trip over a planter just gawking at it.  One of the women, behind me, gives me a solid shove forward.

We ascend the wide steps to the building, and move through the tall, gilded doors into an antechamber.  Here, there are more guards.  The pack who brought us take up spots at the doors, handing us off to these new ones.  They look just as fierce, just as well-armed.  Their limbs are sinewy, corded muscle under tight leather.  Two of them go in front of us, four behind, and we're moved up to another set of doors.  I study the backs of the women in front of me—streamlined, deadly, confident.  The one on the left carries a sword with a wavy blade.  The one on the right, a battle axe.  They have daggers at their belts and boots as well.

I'm not the only one studying them.  To my right, Apollon, eyeing the woman with the axe, nudges Jonas with his elbow, "Nice ass."

The woman turns around and glares at him, her fingers tightening on the handle of her weapon.  Her teeth are bared, her eyes fierce.

Apollon meets her gaze and grins.  "Hi," he says in a low, sultry voice.  "I'm Apollon."  And he winks.  Actually winks.

But her friend has already started opening the door, cutting short the response.  A voice calls through it, female, but low and musical, "What have you brought us tonight, then Chandre?"

The axe-maiden turns toward the voice.  The sword-carrying woman moves into the room and looks up.

I catch Jonas' eyes from the other side of Apollon.  "He's going to get us killed," I hiss.

Jonas' eyelids lower, but he simply looks forward.  "You're just now figuring that out?"

We follow the two women into the room, the others pressing us from behind with their assorted sharp weapons.  I almost stumble into the two in front of us, trying to stop without being run through.  As it is, my pack sustains some damage from a blade.

The first thing that any of us do in this chamber is look up.  We're standing at the bottom of a rotunda, with levels upon levels of balconies leading upward toward the dome.  There are railings and columns around each level, as fancy as anything I've ever seen.  Everything is painted in pinks and blues and lavenders, alternating into alcoves, and above us hangs one huge pink banner with silver stars, suspended vertically from one end.  It reaches across the entire span of the dome, a massive presence that stretches down toward us.

I'm so busy gawking at it that I take a moment to notice the group of women standing at the railing on one of the floors above.

The sword carrier—she must be Chandre—clears her throat and says, "Oh noble sister, I bring you travelers."  Her voice, as she continues, develops a bit of a bite.  "They asked for Rossanna."

The woman above squints at us, calculating.  "What could these know of Rossanna?"

I hear the axe-maiden mutter something that sounds like "nothing", but it's not loud enough to carry up to the women above.

Chandre gives her a quick, disapproving look and answers, "I do not know, sister, but this is the way."

"Bring them up," the woman says, striding away from the railing.  I just see a flip of a charcoal cape as she moves away.

We're hustled up a set of dark wooden stairs that spiral around and around.  The floor below was stone, and now we pass onto chocolate-colored planks that are far richer than any wood floor I've seen in the Outpost.  There's a deep sheen to the wood, and the walls and their colors are mesmerizing.  They look like candy.  I'm so fascinated by it all that I can hardly consider where we are going.

We stop climbing and take a hallway that leads us to a narrow set of ancient-looking double-doors.  They are black, with glass insets.  A touch of paint on the glass at one point might have been the number thirteen.  I can't imagine it's a good sign.  Waiting beside the door is the charcoal-caped woman, and two others who seem to defer to her authority.  She pushes through the black doors and into the room beyond.  More women on the other side hold the doors open.  We're shoved through into the room.  Across the checkerboard floors is a raised pedestal and what could only be described as a throne.  On the throne—the very pink throne—sits a small, middle-aged woman.  She raises her eyebrows and beckons.  We're brought forward.

The women escorting us fall into deep bows.  Unfortunately, there are more armed guards off to the side.  I glance at my friends and for an instant I have a suspicion that Apollon is contemplating a curtsy.  I throw him a warning look and a little smile flits across his face.  He doesn't curtsy though.  Instead, he gazes humbly at the woman on the throne.  His blue eyes have somehow gotten larger and bluer.  The woman looks at him for a long time before she bothers with summing up me, Jonas, or George.

"And what exactly is this?" she finally asks.  She raises an eyebrow and waits.

No one answers her.  Not the women who brought us here.  Not Jonas, Apollon, or George.  I glance at my friends again and realize that they're giving this one to me.  I can't say I blame them.  If only I knew what to say.

I clear my throat to buy a little time.  Alright, this must be Rossanna.  She must think she's something special.  Therefore, I must think she's something special if I want to live through this.  These people are just plain weird, but I think I can fake their gig.  I pitch my voice to mimic Chandre's, and say, "Forgive our intrusion, oh Lady Rossanna.  We are but humble travelers."

I can feel the boys' eyes turn to me.  They're going to make fun of me later, if we come out on the other side alive.  Oh well.

Rossanna sits up straighter.  Her voice is higher pitched, and sharper than is comfortable for my ears.  "Not many travelers come through my city," she says.  "Only the righteous can walk these roads, or those who serve the righteous."

I glance again at Apollon.  I bet he's got a few choice lines to feed me, but his lips are sealed.  So I make it up as I go.  "We are servants of all that is good, Lady.  Our eyes are open to the light."

Her eyes narrow on me, then scan to Apollon once again, where they linger just a touch too long.  I feel a little violated for him, but he doesn't seem bothered.  He's doing a good job of being humble and smoldering at the same time.  He meets her gaze steadily.  I'm surprised he hasn't winked at her yet, to be honest.  Beyond him, Jonas is keeping his eyes on the floor, but I think he's catching every single movement in the room around him.  George is practically attached to his shoulder, eyes wide and unseeing.  The women have not yet relieved us of our weapons, which is good, because I'm pretty sure we're going to need them.

"A woman who travels with men defiles herself," Rossanna suddenly says, waving a hand.

I snort.  "They're guards," I say haughtily.  "Useful, but nothing more.  They know their place."

She considers me again.  But I already know she cannot see through me.

"You might be of use to me," she finally says, and though she tries to make her voice sound disinterested, in truth I hear uncertainty.  "I might enjoy a tale of travels if, indeed, you walk in the light of righteousness."

"I would be honored to share my tales with you, Lady."  Inwardly, I'm groaning, but I don't see a quick way out.

She nods.  "Perhaps you shall join me later then."  She nods to the guards, who immediately begin moving toward us.  "Let her be tested."

I bow my head appropriately before letting the guards take me away.

We're all herded out of the room, and down the hallway.  The word tested is ringing in my mind.  I really do not like the sound of it.  Perhaps we've partially passed already, or perhaps the guards are just lazy, but for whatever reason we are fortunate enough that half of them split off and take a side passage.  Jonas catches my eye, his gaze intense.  We're going to have to fight our way out of this soon.

"Tell me, sister," I say to Chandre, who is leading us, "what exactly does this test involve?"

"Many things," she says, then casts her eyes on me and spits out, "sister."

"Such as?"

She sighs, then rattles off distantly, "The five points of pain, the renewal of fire, the immersion of the spirit through water, and the Goddess' blessing of your survival.  If you pass the entrance requirements."

I squint at her as we walk.  "Which are?"

Her eyes dart to the side and look me up and down.  She offers no answer.

Now it's my turn to sigh. "And you passed this test, I presume."

"Of course I passed," she says.  "I was only unconscious for three days."

"You must be extra-righteous," I mutter.

She glances at me, but says nothing.

We come around the rotunda and continue into the opposite wing, until another corridor splits off.  A few of the guards try to herd Jonas, Apollon, and George into the branching hallway.  They're not really having it.

"Tell your men to behave," Chandre hisses at me in irritation.

"I'd rather have them with me."

She gives me a withering look.

"They see to all my needs."

"We have servants that can tend to you."

"These already know my nuances," I insist.  "I don't have to spell everything out for them."

She sighs again, but a small gesture of her hand beckons them to follow.  We continue down the passageway.

They lead us down another hallway and into a room.  This is apparently where I'll be staying while I'm a "guest" here.  There's a bed, chairs, a dressing table, long curtains at the windows.  Pretty much everything is pink, but a luxurious pink at that.  The materials are soft and shiny, and sometimes sparkly.  It's all a bit much.  There's a small room off the chamber in which a hammered copper tub is the main focal point.  A bathroom with running water.  I'm beginning to like this place a little.

"Have your servants bathe you, then let the guards know you're ready," says Chandre, throwing open the doors of a footed cabinet to reveal clean towels.  "Don't take too long.  Rossanna will want to see you and she doesn't like to wait."  One of the other women places a folded white pile of clothing on the end of the bed.

"Right."  I wait for them to leave.  Chandre shuts the door behind her.

Me and the boys all stare at it for a long moment.  Jonas is the first to stride to the windows, pushing the heavy pink curtains aside to look out.

"It's no good," he says, his voice pitched low.  "There are guards below, too."

George hovers at his side, frowning.

I sigh and look at the door to the bathroom.  "Guess you guys are gonna have to bathe me, then."

It's a joke, but Apollon cracks a wicked grin.  "Sure thing."

Jonas gives him a dark look.  "How about I run the bath for you?  That's the best you're getting."

With my hands planted on my hips, I watch him fill the bath.  He trails his fingers briefly in the water.  "Cold as ice," he says.  "Sorry."

"Hmph," I say.  "This must be the first 'point of pain'."

He shakes his head with a small smile as he closes the door, leaving me alone in the bathroom.

I strip off my clothes and carefully save my piles of fur, wrapping them inside my coat.  The bath is certainly not enjoyable.  I rush through it, my breath catching in my chest from the exposure to the cold water.  Shivering, I climb out and towel off.  I crack the door open, stick my hand out, and ask the boys to pass me the clothes from the bed.  Someone stuffs them into my hand.  It turns out to be a white shift.  The fabric is so soft I feel like I'm not really wearing clothing, which makes me uncomfortable.  I retrieve my knife from my belt and slide it into my boot.  The boys eye me as I step out, breaking off their murmured conversation.

"A plan?" I ask.  They shake their heads.

"I don't like this," they both say at the same time.

"No shit."  I rub my hair with the towel one more time before tossing it down.  "Let's just get through this as quickly as we can so we can get the hell out of here.  OK?"

They exchange looks rather than answer me.

"And you," I point one finger at Apollon as I head for the door, "stop hitting on the Amazons."

He shrugs and mumbles, "I'll try."

I fling open the door and announce that I'm ready to see Rossanna.  If all goes well, maybe we can figure out how to get out of this place before the testing begins.

The guards lead off down the hallway.  We trail along after them, George taking up the rear.  As I glance back, I get the feeling that he's watching out for our backs.  He's still not talking, but he definitely seems a little more with it than he did before.  Maybe, just maybe, I'll be able to get something out of him.

We head down a series of hallways until we finally arrive at our destination.  There is a small room before a larger chamber.  The guards insist that the boys may not follow me any further.

"It's alright," I mumble.  "I'm a big girl."  They say nothing as I move through the door into the next chamber, leaving them behind.

Rossanna is at a long table, laden with food.  She barely glances up as I come in.  The charcoal-cloaked woman sits at the other end, and guards line the sides of the room.  I spot Chandre and the axe-maiden among them.

Rossanna finishes a bite of chicken and beckons me forward with a flip of greasy fingers.  I do as I'm instructed and walk toward her.  She does not invite me to sit down.  "Tell me, Chandre," she says, without looking at the guard in question, "how did you come to find her?"

"One of the patrols brought her in, oh Lady Rossanna," Chandre answers in that weird pitch.  I glance at her, but she has not moved.  "They report that she was brought to the city via the convoy."

"The convoy does not run today," Rossanna snaps viciously.  "Do you take me for a fool?"

Chandre's face colors red.  Her voice attempts to remain steady, but does not.  "Of course not, oh noble Lady.  There is none wiser than you."

"Then do you mean to tell me that these have been in my city since the last convoy, and you are only now finding them?"

"N- no, Lady.  They are only just arrived.  I—"

"Enough."  Rossanna turns her eyes on me, now.  "How did you get into my city?"

"Exactly as Chandre has said, oh noble Lady."  I make the words sound good, though inside I'm growling.  "I had to give the convoy the last of my fortune so that I might come into your radiant presence as soon as possible."

Her eyes narrow to slits as she sizes me up... or at least looks like she's sizing me up.  She's already bought my compliment.

"I have heard rumors of your great city from far off in the north, Lady, and I have been trying to reach Saint Louis ever since."

Her face melts into a gloating smile.  "If you pass the tests of righteousness, you may serve me well," she says, aiming for eloquence, but sounding more like a snappy little dog.  She's really beginning to annoy me, and I barely know her.  She casts a quick glare at Chandre, then looks at me again.  "I always have places for those who serve me best."

I glance at Chandre and she's grinding her teeth.

Rossanna flicks her fingers toward the doorway again.  "Go prepare her for the test.  We'll start when I finish my meal."

Like that, I'm dismissed.  And utterly thankful for it.  If I have to spend much more time around this woman, I might throw up.  As Chandre marches me out the door, I check her face, and she's definitely pissed.  Time to make a friend.

"Even rulers can be assholes," I whisper to her as she shuts the door behind us.

Her eyes flick to me in utter alarm.  She can't believe what I’ve just said.  She gives me a tiny shake of the head, but her eyes—they're glowing.

I smile and turn to the boys, who are moving toward us, their gazes questioning me.

"Time to test," I say as Chandre leads us off down the hallway.  More guards fall in behind us.

"Right now?" Jonas asks.

I nod.

He glances at the pack of guards behind us, summing them up.  George sticks tightly to his side.  Apollon is the one stuck to my side.

"You can't do this, Eden," he murmurs as we walk.  "I've got a really bad feeling about this."

I glance at him.  "I thought you were kind of enjoying yourself."

He flashes me a quick smile, but his eyes are grim.  "It's too dangerous," he says.  "I don't know what the hell this test is going to be like, but it can't be good."

"Probably not," I say, flipping my hair out of my face as we walk.  "But it's not like we have a choice.  And seriously, how bad can it be?"

His frown is laced with concern.

Before he can chastise me for asking a question that most certainly, in his opinion, will lead us to utter doom, I push on.  "Look," I say.  I nod at Chandre ahead of us, then glance at the guards behind us.  "They did it.  If they can do it, I can most definitely do it, too."

He tries to smile at me, but he's still uncertain, worried.

I nudge him with my elbow.  "I fight bears with sticks, remember?  I'm a badass."

His smile stretches wider.  The worry is still there, but he's starting to come around.

And it's a good thing, because we're almost at our destination.  We emerge through a door out the back of the building into the crisp night air.  There are packs of guards out here, now.  We follow a stretch of cracked pavement through tall buildings.  Our guards lead us a couple of blocks down.  Droves of people are already coming.  We head for the rainbow arch.  A series of long steps stretch the distance between its feet.  Chandre guides us to the top, where we're bathed in the light of the rainbow.

I glance at her uncertainly, but she only looks away.  I guess we wait.

So we stand there, and I wonder at the fact that Jonas, Apollon, and George have not been separated from me.  I would have expected that.  At least thinking about them keeps my mind from wondering about the test, which will undoubtedly be an unpleasant experience at best.  But I've been through more than these women can imagine, and I'm tougher than they know.  I don't doubt my ability to meet whatever challenge they throw at me.  And my friends are here, at my back.  Their presence is a comfort in this land of strangers.

The waiting takes a long time, and none of us speak.  The crowd grows, encircling the steps until all I can see around us is masses and masses of armed women.  It's a good thing I'm confident, because if I wasn't, this would be downright scary.

Eventually, Rossanna shows up in a litter.  As she brushes aside the filmy pink curtains and climbs out, Chandre's jaw clamps.  She glances at me, finally.  "Whatever you do," she whispers,  "don't hesitate."  She walks away from me and takes up a spot amongst the other guards.

Hesitation is not something I plan on doing.  Whatever these women might pit me against, I'm going to take it down like there's no tomorrow.  I take a deep breath, remind myself of the knife tucked into my boot, and start counting backwards from one hundred.  My palms are sweaty.  I'm wiping them on my dress as Rossanna, flanked by guards, addresses the crowd.

"This woman has come before us tonight to prove her righteousness.  To prove her worthiness to serve me.  Let us welcome her to the trial of her soul."

A cheer goes up from the women around us.  Moonlight and rainbows glint off the masses of weapons they raise in the air as they cheer.

When they fall quiet, she says, "But first, she must prove that she is fit to be tested."  She turns calmly toward me.  "Which of your servants will you sacrifice in honor of the ceremony?"  Her eyes flit to Jonas, Apollon, and George.

Chapter 25: Agony

Don't hesitate.

"Alright."  My eyes shift slowly from Rossanna to my three companions.  Frowning, I touch my hand to my chin and rub.  To Rossanna, I must be deliberating over the choice of which one to sacrifice.

During the span of five seconds, a million things flash through my mind.  Rossanna closely surrounded by guards.  My knife in my boot, too far away to draw quickly.  The boys—weaponless.  When did the Amazons have time to disarm them?  A crowd of thousands surrounding us.  The Sentries.  Where are the fucking Sentries?  My limbs, like rubber.  Chandre's warning: don't hesitate.

I cling desperately to logic.  There is one clear truth here:  Either one of the boys is going to die, or we all are.  I can see no way out.  No weakness to exploit.  No vulnerability.  We’re trapped.  I can't let us all die, so which one will it be?  Apollon, my best friend?  Jonas, the love of my past?  Or George, who is possibly the key to everything—the piece of the puzzle that could save Miranda, Neveah, and Matt?  My five seconds is up.  There never was a choice here.

I let my hand drop and look back at Rossanna.  I sigh.  I cannot appear to be too detached or she will see my ruse.  Anyone would be reluctant to lose a well-trained slave.  I move one finger between Apollon and Jonas.  "You can have either of them," I say, keeping my voice flat with disinterest.  I nod at George.  "Just not that one."

Apollon's eyes go wide.  Frozen with fear and shock.  Betrayal colors his face in a rush of red.  Jonas is as solid and unreadable as ever.

A cruel little smile twitches at Rossanna's lips.  She gestures toward George.  "The sacrifice means more if it is difficult to part with."

Two Amazons step forward and seize him by the arms.  He glances from one to the other, but he doesn't struggle.  I'm counting backwards, trying to bury my relief and the guilt that goes with it.  Did I really just choose his death?  I had no choice.  I had no choice.  I had no choice.

Rossanna sweeps away from the center of the steps toward a pink throne that has materialized at the edge—front row seating.  Chandre's wave of guards encompasses Jonas and Apollon, herding them roughly to the other side.  I want to retreat with them, close my eyes and hide from what’s happening, but somehow I am still here.  That leaves me, George, the two Amazons holding him, and a third, who thrusts a gleaming silver dagger toward me.

"So that you may prove your worthiness to be tested," she whispers, pressing the blade into my hands.  I fumble, unable to accept it.  My eyes dart wildly through the crowd as I realize the full weight of what is required of me.  I lock gazes with Chandre, standing at the edge.  Don't hesitate.  My fingers curl around the blade.  I look at George.

He's not Apollon.  Not Jonas.  Just some guy that I don't really know.  Either I'll find another way to save the Outpost, or it's too late already.  He might not even ever regain his sanity.  I could be doing him a favor.  Surely he's not aware of what's happening right now, or he would be struggling.  Wouldn't he?

George looks directly into my face.  Then he looks past me, at Jonas.  There is something reverential in his eyes.  Some hidden communication that passes between them.  George's gaze falls to the ground, to the cement steps stretching away before him.  He freezes, a statue awaiting death.  A willing victim.  I cannot imagine the agony of his mind right now.  Cannot imagine how he can face this so bravely, or all the multitude of loss that this moment is carving out inside him.  It pours out of him in massive waves, crashing over me.  I know in an instant I will be unable to act.  Unable to save us.  Jonas.  Apollon.  Can’t breathe.  Can’t do this.  Don’t.  Hesitate.

One strike of flashing silver, lightning shooting across his throat.  A torrent of warm crimson splashes onto me—onto my face, my white robes.  He falls.  I can’t look.  George's lifeblood flows down the steps, a quiet red river carrying away his soul.  Just like that, so easily, he is gone.  At my hand.  My hand.  Utter silence stretches beneath the arch.  Then, as the blood reaches the bottom of the steps, a cheer like a million carrion birds upon their prey.

The dagger falls from my grip before I can stop it.  I can't take my eyes from the river—can't sense anything but the smell of blood, my robes sticking to my skin with quickly-cooling liquid, the darkness of my soul plummeting into the furthest reaches of Hell.  Evil, rage, disgust, rises swiftly within me, filling me with the most terrible conglomeration of emotion I have ever experienced.  Layers upon layers of wrongness.  George's agony cast upon me tenfold, contorted, writhing with living darkness.  As it bursts out of my innermost being, I lose control of my body.  Though I fight it, my face begins to twist in pain.  What have I done?  Tears are coming.  On top of everything else is the knowledge that I have failed.  I know that when Rossanna sees the reaction that I cannot hide, we will all die.  I have become a murderer for nothing.  I've not saved us.

As the scream builds within me, there is sudden awareness of my fingertips.  I gape wide-eyed at the contraption of wires that the grey-cloaked woman is clamping onto them.  The jolt of physical pain shoots up my arms at the perfect moment.  Lightning.  Fire.  Every nerve in my hands and arms exploding.  It's nothing.  My screams are detached.  They come from a place far deeper.

I stumble on the steps as she attaches the next device on my head.  A pickaxe through my brain.  I'm blind.  Pain and pain and pain.  My shrieks pour out, a release of everything inside.  The torment from without competes with the agony from within.  I'm laying down, steps pressing into my back.  Hands are on me.  Boots yanked off.  My toes.  My neck.  My hips.  Thrashing.  Raw throat.  White light.  Screams far away.  Collision of brain chemicals.  Nothing.  Except.  Agony.

***

Shuffling down an echoing corridor.  Awareness sinks in.  My body is shaking violently, occasionally wracked with spasms.  Jonas and Apollon support my arms, though I don't want them to touch me.  Every touch is raw nerve, but more than that, I don't want anyone to come in contact with the foulness of my soul.  Certainly not these, who I love.  But they won't let me cast them off, just as I won't let Jonas pick me up when he tries again.  So we stumble toward our room, make it through the door, and close the guards outside.

I tear at my robes.  "Get these off of me!  Get these off of me!"  My voice seems to come from someone else.  My hands aren't working right.  I'm in a pile on the floor.  Jonas kneels and helps me remove the bloody clothing, talking softly to me, telling me something I can't seem to understand.  I don't care about my nakedness.  Just getting rid of the blood.  So much of it stays when the robes are gone.  I scratch at my skin, trying to claw it off.  I'm shrieking through clenched teeth.

Jonas peels my hands away from the skin I am trying to tear into ribbons.  Apollon presses a wet cloth into Jonas' hands and he starts wiping me.  "There," he says.  "There."  His face is so tender.  So sad for me.  I don't deserve his pity.

There's a bowl beside him with clean water.  He washes all the blood off with patient, gentle motions.  I stop fighting him.  Stop fighting myself.  I'm too exhausted, and my body is still busy using all its energy on shaking and convulsing.  Even the tears have to pour quietly down my face because I don't have anything left to give them.  I watch the water turn blush.  Then red.

Jonas wipes my face last, when Apollon replaces the bloody liquid with clean water.  He's turned down the bed, and now he brings my clothing and helps Jonas dress me.  Apollon takes away all the evidence of blood as Jonas swings me up into his arms and carries me to the bed.  I hang limply until he places me into the middle of the mattress.

The lights are doused.  My friends climb in on either side of me, draping warm blankets and comforting arms over my shivering body.  They don't try to say anything.  There is nothing to say.  I weep and weep in the darkness.  The strangest thing is I am not weeping for George, or for what I've done, or for the rawness of every nerve in my body.  The only thing I can think about is Oscar.  If I had never lost him, none of this could have happened.  Oscar made me better than this.  My beautiful little Oscar.  But even that was my fault.  I didn't save him.  Now, without him, there is no hope for me.

***

I wake in the early hours of the morning, my body aching tremendously.  I clamp my eyes against the rush of memory, pushing it away, and focus on the sensations in my body.  Everything hurts like I have the flu.  I know what it's from, but I choose not to acknowledge it.  I lie still for a moment, orienting myself.  Behind me, a mass of warmth and deep breathing.  Apollon.  In front of me, nothing.  I touch the vacant mattress, a slight impression where Jonas used to be.

I open my eyes and give them a moment to focus.  He's a motionless mass of darkness against the window, sitting on the wide sill, the curtain barely shoved aside.  His face is turned to the landscape below, undoubtedly analyzing the possibility of a way out.

I manage to climb from the bed without waking Apollon, though it takes tremendous effort just to make my body move.

Jonas looks at me as I approach.  He reaches out a hand to steady me.  Instead of pushing him away, or pretending to be OK, I let myself fall into him.  He stands, catching me into his arms.  I bury my face in his shoulder and just let him hold onto me.  I breathe the smell of him and think that maybe, just maybe, I can come through this to the other side.

He holds onto me for a long, long time.  There are still no words.  How could he possibly know what to say?  Maybe he's as disgusted with me as I am.  But even so, his forgiveness is apparent.  He hangs onto me like I could slip away to nothingness if he faltered in the slightest bit.  I rest against him, and his words from a very long time ago form in my head, as though he's whispered them now:  You do what's necessary to survive.  Sometimes you make choices that you don't like.  But in the end, you're alive.  There is comfort in the words, but they also bring a new dose of fear.  How far do you go?  At what point is it too much to ask?  What if Rossanna had demanded I kill Jonas or Apollon?  Could I have done it?  Wouldn't it have been better for us all to die together?  What about George?  He knew us, even if we didn't remember him.  He died for us, willingly.  I'm sure now that's the whole of it.  Maybe I should have defied Rossanna for him.  Gone down with some remnant of my soul intact.

As light begins to seep in through the window, Jonas finally speaks.  Really, it's a growl through clenched teeth.  "We have to find a way out of here."

"No shit," says Apollon from the bed.  I don't know if Jonas realized he was awake, or if his words were for me.  Apollon sits up and stretches.  "Any ideas?"

Jonas, still clinging to me, shakes his head in my shoulder.  "No," he mutters.  He sounds so defeated.  "We're still heavily under guard."

Apollon goes to the window, yanks the curtain aside, has a look at the patrol of Amazons below, and sighs.  He turns to us, puts his hand on my shoulder.  Jonas finally lets go of me and Apollon scoops me up in a bear-hug.  It's like he's squeezing all the pain to the surface.  I can't breathe.  I clamp my eyes but the tears leak out.  I can't see his face, but I know that his expression is the same as mine.

Later, I'm the one sitting in the window, gazing out despondently.  The boys are all hushed, intense words.  Not arguing, exactly.  Just debating the best possibility for escape.  I can't hear most of what they're saying—they don't want me to.  But there are two things they clearly agree on.  One: They will not let me go through any more of this ‘testing’.  Two: There is no way out.

Grim reality is settling over me.  I don't care about what I might go through now, so long as they are safe.  Surely, if I just pass this stupid test, I'll be trusted enough to have the opportunity to escape.  I don't know what the Amazons can possibly do to me that is any worse than what they have already done.  No.  What I have already done.

There's a soft knock at the door.  The boys cut off their conversation and look at it.  Finally, Apollon gets up and answers it, a dark expression plastered across his face.

It's Chandre.  The axe-maiden is with her, but this time Apollon hardly glances at her.  He steps aside to let them enter, but he and Jonas exchange a look.

"I brought your knives," Chandre says, holding out the knife I was given by Coyote Dan in one hand and the dagger I used to kill George in the other.  There is no longer any sign of his blood.  "You'll want to have them later."

I don't like the sound of that, but all I can do is grunt acknowledgement.  Chandre places them on a small table.  She and the axe-maiden exchange glances then turn to go.  At the door, Chandre says, "You did well not to hesitate."

I want nothing more than for them to go, but at the last second, I say, "Chandre?"

She turns back.

"What would have happened if I had hesitated?"

She blinks, as if my question is unexpected.  As if the answer isn't apparent.  I want to believe that it is, but I need to hear it spoken aloud.  A little flicker of understanding passes her gaze.  "The crowd would have torn you all limb from limb until you were nothing but scattered pieces."  She allows the words a few heartbeats to sink in, then she gives a small nod and leaves.

As the axe-maiden turns to follow her, she murmurs, "Be ready.  It won't be long."

Silence hangs in the room once the door is shut.  None of us look at each other at first.  I’m staring at the floor, trying to convince myself that I did the right thing.  When I do finally look up, Jonas is all tension, jaw working, mind far away.

Apollon, sitting in a chair, glances up and meets my gaze.  He smiles now, tentatively.  "I've still got you trumped.  You don't think you can compete with the god of the plague, do you?"

I manage a half-smile and a puff of air.  The burden I am carrying feels the tiniest fraction lighter.

"I mean, you might fight bears with sticks and all," he says, trying harder than anyone should to make me feel better, "but even there I think I've got you beat.  I set entire packs of wolves on fire.  I beat foxes with rabbit carcasses.  I—"  He breaks off suddenly, his eyes going wide.  His next word is a whisper: "Wolves."

I frown at him.

Jonas, coming out of his silent reverie, frowns at him, too.  "Apollon?"

Our blonde friend's eyes are darting back and forth.  He leaps to his feet.  "Get your stuff," he says.  "Get everything.  This pack of wolves is about to burn in hell."

Chapter 26: Nuts

I'm pretty sure the boys have moved past desperate and into maniacal.  This half-hatched plan is sloppy, insane, and likely as deadly for us as for our enemies.  But it's all we have.  I know the look in their eyes, the firm set to their jaws.  This is it.  Now or never.  We're making our break.

I get my coat on, packing all my spare fur inside.  With any luck, we'll be back out in the freezing cold again soon.  I strap on my pack and check my knife three times.  The dagger I leave on the table.  I can't bear to pick it up.  Murderer.

Apollon and Jonas leave the dagger as well.  Their weapons, surprisingly, were in the room, so they are armed and ready to go.  They're all hushed whispers again as they pile the combustible contents of the chamber onto the mattress.  Apollon takes out his aether lighter and flips it over in his hand.  He looks from Jonas to me.

"Do it."  Jonas backs away, taking me by the arm.  We stand by the door and watch Apollon open the tiny chamber and pour out the remaining half-gas.  The blue vapor swirls onto the fabric.  Fire.

Apollon joins us by the door and we watch the flames leap suddenly toward the ceiling.  We give it until the last possible second to take hold.  When the fire looms dangerously toward us, I throw open the door.

"Fire!" I cry to the guards in the hallway, shielding my face with my arm and coughing.  We billow out of the doorway with the smoke.

The guards don't notice that we're carrying our packs.  They're too shocked to see anything but the mass of flames.  They run in different directions, shouting for help, for water.

Apollon, Jonas, and I make off down the hallway.  We run into another patrol, but pointing the way we have just come and yelling about fire seems to distract them.  The black smoke following us helps.  Most of them rush to join the fire-dousing efforts.  Only two stop to regard us suspiciously.  Jonas and Apollon dispatch them with merciless abandon.  A little revenge for George.  It's not nearly enough.

We haul tail down the corridor.  A group of guards emerging from an adjoining hallway sees us, shouts for us to stop.  Run faster.  We hit the rotunda.  Another group between us and the stairs.  Apollon, in front, leaps for the edge.  His feet push off the railing and launch him into open air.  Jonas and I follow suit right behind him.  For a moment, we're flying.  A swath of pink fabric hits me in the face.  I cling to the banner, catch it just enough to slow my descent.  We slide down the flag as it begins to fall.  A tumble of stars.

The impact is painful, but we're still in one piece.  We run out the front door, which is now unguarded.  Outside, everyone has rushed to the back of the building to help put out the fire.

We're across the open front, around a corner, and ducking behind an outbuilding before the guards make it outside.  There's a possibility they will turn back to help with the fire instead of chasing us—the flames are billowing high into the sky, now.  We focus on forward movement.  Keep going.  Now that we’re out of sight, every step is carefully placed.  We wait out patrols in hiding, stick to narrow alleys and side streets.  We pick our way slowly away from the city center, relying on stealth rather than speed.

Not long after our escape, a bell rings somewhere in the distance.  At first, we freeze, thinking it some kind of alarm that might send more Amazons hunting for us.  But the streets suddenly fill with people.  To our surprise, many of them are male.  Not to our surprise, they have the look of the oppressed.  They go about their business quietly.  There's little conversation, and the words we hear are spoken softly, cautiously.  The men, especially, keep their heads down.  But the traffic makes it much easier to move without being noticed.  We continue our journey toward the southern side of the city at a quicker pace.  The further we walk, the poorer the residents seem to be.  These people are laborers, probably little better than slaves.  They're skinny, underdressed, and frail.  We stick out like sore thumbs.  But none of them seem to be looking at us.  Also to our fortune, patrols are fewer and further in between.  Apparently these people are not worth the time.

The sun is well into a bright blue sky.  It's a warm day for winter, but we're at a loss when it comes to finding a gate out, not to mention that we're fresh out of madcap escape plans.  My body's still hurting.  We haven't eaten in far too long.  We have no idea what lies ahead, or how far the next city will be.  Or if it will be better or worse than this one.  Truth is, it seems to just keep getting worse.  The thought of how much worse this one was brings tears to my eyes.  I blink them away as we stand on a corner and take a moment to discuss our options.

"If we find the wall," Jonas says quietly, "we can walk along it until we find a gate out."

"And you think it won't be guarded?" Apollon asks, just as quietly.  "I'm all out of aether."

They exchange a look.

"I'm not sure we'll make it out, as is."  I feel myself running out of the will to move.  To fight.  "We need to find a safe place to stop for a bit.  Find something to eat.  Then we can figure out what to do next."

Again, they trade looks.  This time, Jonas turns to me, his gaze filled with concern.  He nods, but he says, "Where are we going to find a place here?"

There's a man—a lanky stick of a man—standing on a stoop nearby.  I didn't think he could have heard us, but now he looks directly at us and says, "Jack has a place.  For a copper.  Jack has a place."

Apollon eyes him cautiously.  "Jack?"

"Jack has a place," the man says again.  "A copper.  You got a copper for Jack?"

"I got a copper for Jack," Apollon says cautiously.  "You gonna take us to him?"

The man hisses.  Then he grins widely, his face stretching into a smile of sun-engraved lines around a mouthful of crooked teeth.  "Jack."  He touches his chest.  "Jack in the Box."  He starts humming a child's tune I've heard somewhere, bobbing his head and shoulders to the sound of it.  It grows in intensity and speed until he jumps suddenly forward and says "Blah!"  All of us jerk in response.  This guy is completely nuts.  He retracts his hands, stuffs them in his pockets, and looks away down the street and mutters, "Jack in the Box."  Suddenly, I get it.  My eyes go to his forehead, trying to see what is hidden underneath his hat.

Jonas looks uncomfortable, scanning the streets around us, but still, no one seems to be paying attention.  He eyes Jack and says, "Alright Jack in the Box, you've got a place?  We've got a copper for you.  Maybe two."

The guy turns and starts walking.  Fast.

We exchange quick glances then take off after him, uncertain if he's fleeing us, or if we're meant to follow.

We wind around a curved street, take a left through an alley and then walk for several blocks.  The filth in the alleyways here is almost as bad as the streets in the last two cities.

"Are we supposed to be following him?" I mutter to Apollon, who shrugs and does not take his gaze off of Jack.

Jack doesn't bother acknowledging our presence until a few moments later when he glances back, sees us, and starts like he didn't know we were there.  Then he grins at us and says, "Jack's right there."

We follow him for another block, make a turn to the left, and see the wall of Saint Louis a few blocks down.  Jack leads us up to it, to a row of little shacks backed right up against the concrete barrier.  His place is small—smaller even than our little shack in the Outpost, and it looks like it might fall in on itself at any second.  Nonetheless, I'm relieved to follow him inside and get off the streets.

Apollon has to stoop to get through the door behind me.

Everything inside is a dim swath of disarray.  There is something like an armchair, that Jack immediately goes to sit in.  He wraps his arms around himself and starts rocking back and forth, humming.  He's not looking at any of us.

Jonas takes two coppers out of his pack.  He holds them out to Jack, who pays him no attention.  "Here, Jack.  Take them."

A moment later, Jack appears to notice.  He grabs the coppers and stuffs them into the torn fabric of the sagging chair beneath him.

Apollon gives me a look.  I widen my eyes back at him.

There's nowhere for us to sit, so we stand and look around.  All of us are reluctant to talk of our plans with Jack here.  Who knows if we can trust him or not.  Who knows what he might say or do.  And unless we can figure out a way to get out of this godforsaken city, we might have to stay with him for a while.  I find myself glancing around the room.  There's not much to it.  Just this cramped little space, the falling apart chair, which Jack must sleep in, because there's no bed.  A short table stands next to the chair, and is overflowing with bits and pieces of junk.  At first I think there's no sense to it, but then I see that it's sorted into piles by size, by shape, but not by function.  A single door stands in a wall that juts out.  It must be a closet, because it's not a toilet.  That's the bucket in the corner.

Jonas sighs.  He and Apollon trade looks.

"Well," Apollon says reluctantly, "what now?"

Jonas rubs his eyelids with thumb and forefinger.  "I don't know," he murmurs.  "A little rest, I guess.  I don't suppose you have any food you'd sell us, Jack?"

Jack ignores him.  He's busy tossing something small into the air and catching it repeatedly.  He's muttering to himself, counting the times he's caught it.

I feel my legs sagging beneath me.  I survey the filthy floor and its limited space.  It will have to do.  I'm turning around like a dog trying to find a place to make myself comfortable, when Jonas suddenly asks "What is that?"

Jack ignores Jonas entirely, continuing his catch and toss game.

Jonas snatches Jack's toy out of the air.  Jack blinks up at him widely now.

Jonas holds it out in his palm.  "This is a nut."

"Jack's," says Jack impatiently.  "Jack's nut."

"Jack's nuts," Apollon murmurs.  Despite my weariness, I have to purse my lips to avoid smiling.

"Where did you get this?" Jonas demands softly, holding the nut out to Jack but not letting him have it back.

Nuts are good enough for me, I'm thinking, if there are more where that one came from.  I could eat rats right now.

Jack makes a swipe for the nut and Jonas pulls it back.

"Where did you get it?" Jonas asks again.

Jack glances at the closet.  "In there."

Aha.  A food stash.

But Jonas shakes his head.  "No," he says.  "Where did you get it?"

"In there," says Jack, not missing a beat.

Jonas is exasperated now.  He sighs and says patiently, "No, Jack.  Not where did you keep it.  Where did you get it?"

"In there," insists Jack.

Jonas turns away, face swinging up to the ceiling like he is talking to someone up there who might understand him and stop him from doing violence.  He stalks to the closet and throws the door open.  There is a sound like heavy rain pounding the roof.  An avalanche of nuts pours out of the closet onto Jonas, until he is standing in them right up to his knees.  His mouth is open, his hand still on the doorknob.

Apollon throws back his head and starts laughing.

I'm smiling right along with him, but my thoughts are racing, too.  There may be a few trees in this city, but I doubt Jack would be able to steal this many nuts from them, even if they were the kind of trees that grew nuts.  There's no way he could afford to buy this many.  That means he got them somewhere else.  Somewhere like... out of the city.  Is that possible?  Apollon and I, finally understanding what Jonas was onto, are both looking at Jack now.  Our faces are etched with eagerness.

"Jack," I say, "can you show us how you got all these nuts?"

"I'm wondering how we get all these nuts," Apollon mutters.

Jack completely ignores me.  He's gawking at the pile, clearly distressed.  His eyes are wide, brow furrowed.  He leaps from his chair, making a long noise of distress, and scoops up a handful of nuts, practically bowling over Jonas in his panic.  He tears the closet door from Jonas' grip—Jonas is just stumbling out of his way—and slams it shut.  He leans on it, panting, for an instant, then starts picking up more nuts.  There is a tiny hole at the top of the door I didn't notice.  He feeds the nuts through, one by one, counting each nut as he puts it in.

The rest of us just look at each other, shrug, and start helping.  We pass the nuts to Jack and he counts them.  Eventually, the nuts are all off the floor.  Jack turns circles, scanning the shack.  "One more," he mutters.  "One more."

We finally find it behind the piss bucket.  I grimace as I pick it up with thumb and forefinger.  Jack plucks it from my hand and deposits it into the closet.  He dusts off his hands and sighs a long, shaky sigh.  It looks like none of us are going to be eating, but now there is the hope of something better: a way out.

"Jack," says Jonas, sitting on his haunches so he can be on level with the crazy guy, who has taken up his seat in his dilapidated armchair again, "can you tell us how to find some nuts like these ones?"

Jack only gives him the vaguest of glances.  He seems to be somewhere else.

"Jack," Jonas insists softly, patiently.  "Jack."

Jack finally looks at him.

"Want more nuts?" Jonas asks.

Jacks eyes narrow a touch.

Jonas raises his eyebrows.  "We can help you get more nuts," he says, smiling, "if you show us how to get to them."

Jack appears to be considering.

Apollon and I lean in, hoping.

"In the chair," Jack says.  "The nuts are in the chair."

"The nut is in the chair," Apollon murmurs.  I jab him with my elbow and he grunts in pain.

Jonas is just shaking his head, refusing to give up.  "Not where you put them," he insists softly.  "Where do you get the nuts?"

"In the chair," Jack says.

"Where you get them," Jonas repeats.

"In the chair," Jack says.  Here we go again.

But Jonas stands up, regarding Jack.  He lets out a long sigh, eyeing the man.  Then he says, "OK, Jack.  In the chair.  Can you show us?"

Jack stands up and shoves the chair out of the way.  Beneath it, a hole in the floor is filled with nothing but darkness.

Chapter 27: Passage

I'm several feet in, right behind Jack, when panic closes in on me.  The earth is pressing on all sides.  I'm like a worm, wiggling my way through this darkness.  Jack is in front.  Apollon and Jonas are behind.  I'm trapped between them.  Stuck.  Memories of the box close in.  Clawing.  Screaming.  Endless darkness without relief.  I'm screeching and kicking at the dirt around me, a mess of adrenaline and primal instinct.

Apollon's fingers clamp down on my ankle.  "Stop, Eden," he yells.  "You're OK.  Just go."

I rake in breaths, trying to shut it down.  My fingers claw the frozen mud, hauling myself forward.  Behind me, I hear Apollon spitting out mouthfuls of dirt that I probably kicked into his face.  Even further back I hear Jonas' muffled voice, but I have no idea what the words are—only that he sounds concerned.

"Sorry," I shout back, forcing my mind to focus on the task at hand.  "Temporary freak-out."  I'm embarrassed now.  My face feels hot.  But that's great.  It's human.  I hold on to the mortification and use it to help keep my head out of this grave.  Still, it feels like hours that we are crawling through the freezing black worm hole.  When we emerge into open air on the other side, only a few feet past the barrier, I feel my body shaking, shock moving like chemical hell through my veins.

Apollon wraps an arm around my shoulder, rubbing my upper arm.  I'm hunched, hugging myself, teeth chattering.  I don't think it's really this cold out.  We stand in the darkness—we waited for the cover of night to do this—and watch Jonas emerge from the hole.  He pulls himself out using his forearms, then reaches down and grabs hold of the rope that our packs are strung on.  Apollon leaves me and goes to help pull them the rest of the way through.

They untie the packs from the rope and shrug theirs on.  Apollon looks like he's going to try to carry mine, too, but I free it from his grip.

"I'm good," I mutter in reply to his questioning look.  He doesn't argue.

"Alright, Jack," Jonas says softly, "let's get you some nuts, and then we'll be on our way."

We follow Jack off into the trees where he leads us to a large oak.  We scramble around in the dark and find as many acorns as we can—though I’m not sure they’re good for anything other than counting.  If it weren’t for the small loaf of bread that Jack shared with us, I might consider trying to eat them anyway.

The weather has not been so bad here, and there are only small patches of snow obscuring the ground in places, rather than the endless cover of white.  It's still beyond cold, and there's a sharp breeze whistling through the night, but we're out.  That's all I can think.  We're out.  We made it.

Jack has a cloth bag, and we fill the whole thing with useless nuts.  Then Jonas gives him another copper and a pat on the back.  "Thanks, Jack.  We owe you one for this.  Good luck with your nuts."

I narrow my eyes at Apollon and he doesn't make a comment.  Just smiles.  "Thanks, Jack," he echoes.

I nod at our crazy helper.  "Really, Jack.  Thanks."  I give him a smile, and we turn and head off through the woods.

Footsteps follow after us.

We all stop at the same time, but none of us turn.  I close my eyes and take a deep breath.  I can sense the boys, in front of me, doing the same.  How are we going to do this?  When we finally make ourselves turn around, we are immediately subverted.

Jack throws us a wide grin, looking strangely childlike.  "Got nuts," he says happily, waving around his bag of nuts.  He marches straight past us, on into the forest.

Jonas groans as he turns to follow.

Apollon flashes a grin at me as we start after them.  "Got nuts."

***

We walk for a few hours until we've put some distance between us and the city.  I don't think we're moving exactly south, but at least we're getting away.  We’re alive.  We’re free.  Beyond the boundary.  Beyond the reach of the Amazons, or whoever else might decide to kill or torture us just for kicks.  But my body is still feeling sore and tired.  The boys are tired, too—mostly emotionally.  Mostly because they’re still worrying about me.  We could all use a good rest.

As we walk, my thoughts are all over the place.  I carefully direct them away from recent horrors and try to focus on the other things that have been lurking just below the surface.  I know I'm tired, stressed, and that's a lot of it, but I have this feeling that things are just making less and less sense.  That nothing really adds up, though I'm not sure why.  My mind meanders sloppily over the past couple of days, minus strategic parts, and the whole blur is just confusing.

"This world is messed up," I find myself saying as we walk.  "I'm pretty sure that place violated most of the Ten Laws.  Religion, politics... murder.”  My voice breaks on the last word, but I push forward.  “How do they get away with so much?  Aren't the Sentries supposed to stop that sort of thing?  Isn't that the whole point of them?  I mean, where were they?"  My stress is evident by the way my voice climbs in pitch.  I blink away tears once again, swallow the lump in my throat, and keep walking.

Jonas shoots me a dark look and says nothing.

Apollon gives me a sympathetic pat on the shoulder, shaking his head.  "Sentries are stupid," he says, as if it’s the most obvious thing.  "The Forefathers failed us.  They couldn't make a smart enough Sentry to do the job right.  People like the Amazons have obviously figured out ways to exploit their stupidity."

I consider this for a moment as we move through the trees.  Sentries are a wonder of engineering.  We could never have built anything like them.  Sure, Miranda was able to copy them, but could she have ever come up with that sort of thing on her own?  Probably not.  They're beyond anything we could have imagined.  Even so, are they simply not good enough?  I shake my head.  "But the Forefathers made so many amazing things.  That rainbow.  Did you really look at it?  I mean, how could you make something like that if you weren't... genius?  I thought the Forefathers were like... Idunno... gods or something."

Apollon snorts.  "Distortions," he says.  "No one really knows what the Forefathers were like."

I squint up at him, trying to see his face through the darkness.  "Aren't there books?"

His eyebrows go up.  "Yeah.  Not a lot from that time period, though.  And they all seem to be complete fiction."

"Are they?  I thought..."

He just shakes his head.  "A lot of people think all that stuff is true—that the Forefathers could do pretty much anything.  Their stories have a lot of things in common.  Incredible technology.  The ability to communicate over long distances—across the world, even.  Access to unlimited information.  You name it.  They were fascinated with this... mythology... of omniscience, omnipresence... everything right now.  They wanted to be gods.  But they didn't do it.  They couldn't have."

I'm silent for just a moment, feeling the significance of his words.  "How are you so sure?" I finally manage.

"Because Sentries are stupid."

Just like that, it all comes together.  If the Forefathers could do all the things people say they could, then why would they build a flawed machine to rule over us?  Why would they leave us, their children, in the care of tyrants incapable of understanding us.  Wouldn't they have known how we would manipulate this system?  Wouldn't they have guessed what would become of us?

None of us speak as we continue our march.  I have the feeling that I am not the only one mulling over these ideas.  The image of a hand, severed, bleeding into the snow, is imprinted on my mind.  I hardly see the dark shapes of trees in front of me, but I am not coherent enough to make sense of anything now.  After another hour of walking I'm hardly thinking at all.

Finally, we find a good place to camp in a little space sheltered within a thick grove of trees.  The wind is biting, so we risk making a campfire, but first we dig a deep hole to build it in.  Hopefully between the hole and the distance we've walked, we'll be safe from stupid Sentries.

"What are we even doing now?" I find myself muttering as I unroll my sleeping pack near the fire.  Thinking about the future helps me turn my thoughts away from the past that is trying to creep up on me now that we are standing still for a moment.

Apollon gives me a smug smile.  He's sitting on his bedroll again, sipping a cup of melted snow.  "I have a feeling you're not done with this game of yours."

Jonas makes a sound behind me.  I'm not sure what that means.

To my other side is the low murmur of Jack counting his nuts by the firelight.

I go flop down next to Apollon, shoving him over to make room.  "Idunno," I say.  "I kind of forgot about everything back there.  We didn’t even think to look for a tower."  Or for Oscar, I add silently.

Apollon snorts.  “Doubtful any white tower would survive the wrath of the Amazons anyway.  They probably declared it a phallic symbol long ago and burnt it down.”

I manage a laugh, shake my head as if banging my brain around might help free some of my muddled thoughts.  "I'm just glad we're out."

"Yeah, me too," Apollon says softly, looking into his water.  He leans over enough to bump me with his shoulder.  We exchange looks, and his tentative smile is filled with understanding before it suddenly flashes into a grin.  "That was a great performance, by the way.  What was it you said?  Something like, 'Our eyes are open to the light?'"  He starts chuckling.  "'Our eyes are open to the light'" he mimics in a higher-pitched and funnily accented voice.  "'We are not stumbling in the darkness of badass evilness.  Really.'"  He looks like he’s having way too much fun teasing me, but really, he’s trying to make me feel normal.

I play along, hoping that the act of normalcy will bring on the actual feeling.  I give him a solid shove in the shoulder, hoping to send him flying right off the end of the roll, but he only tips and catches himself, still laughing at me.

"You suck," I say.

"You suck," he chuckles.  "I really thought you’d sold me out there for a minute.  I mean Jonas, yeah, but me?”  He does his best to look deeply hurt.

“Psh,” I say.  “There’s no way Rossanna was going to let you die before she got her hands on you, what with all the smoldering.”

“I was just trying to keep us alive,” Apollon insists.  “And besides, she would have had to fight the axe lady for me.  I think she liked me.”

Now I'm laughing.  "She was indeed flattered by the ass comment.”  I roll my eyes.  "Idiot."

He shoves me back with his shoulder and I go tumbling off the end of the roll.  I catch myself on one palm, giggling.  I right myself and stand up, tossing a handful of leaves at him.  He ducks behind his arm, which does a lot of good.  The leaves sprinkle into his lap and water.  I whirl away from him, thinking I'm going to retreat before he reciprocates with something worse than leaves.  My laughter falls short.  Jonas is just watching us, and the look on his face is...  I'm not sure what it is, but I feel everything inside me falling.

That's when I realize how quiet he's been all night.  How distant.  He's thinking hard, troubled by something, and of course he's not sharing.  I’m trying very hard not to think about all the things that I should be troubled over.  But I hate seeing him look so... alone.

"Jonas," I say, grinning, "are we ever going to be able to teach him appropriate ways to hit on women?  Is there any hope for him?"

A little smile flickers across Jonas' face, but it doesn't stick.  He looks away, into the night.

Behind me, Apollon is saying, "Test or not, we might not be alive at all if I wasn't so hot."  His laughter only dies off as he realizes that Jonas is walking away into the night.  I look back at him, and Apollon's brow furrows.  He looks like he's about to get up.

"He'll be fine," I say.  "I'm just gonna go check."  And I beat Apollon to following Jonas off into the night.

Patches of moonlight are scattered between the deep wells of tree-shadows.  The wind whips at me, and I can't really see where I'm going.  This landscape should be frightening, but I only have an overflowing sense of anticipation.  Following after Jonas, for the first time I realize how much I've missed our little meetings in the dark.

He stops not far ahead.  I catch sight of him, his body framed in the moonlight.  He doesn't turn back, makes no sign that he knows I'm there, but I can feel him waiting for me.  My eyes wander over the black shape of him, his broad shoulders, his sleek frame.  He turns his face to the side and raises one hand to rub the back of his neck.  It's a casual gesture, but there is something unbelievably appealing in it.  I find myself swallowing, trying to breathe evenly.  I almost turn and go back.  I really should.  Knowing that fact does not make me even partially willing to tear myself away from this moment.

"Hey," he says softly as I pad through the leaves toward him.

I stop a few feet off, where I can now see half of his face illumined in the moonlight.  "Hey."

For a moment there is just the two of us looking at each other, and silence.  My thoughts are spinning, past and present, wildly bouncing from sense to nonsense.  I finally clear my throat and ask, "You OK?"

He hesitates, then shrugs and looks off into the forest.  His whole face is in the light now, and he really is so beautiful.

I look away from him, smothering the part of me that won't seem to shut up.  "Is it... is it George?" I ask, looking at him sideways.

He offers a little laugh.  "George," he says so softly I barely even make out the word.

I wait for a while, until he goes on.

"I guess," he says.  He glances at me sideways, then says, “Don’t think it was you.  People die.  They just do.  How many people have we seen die?”

There is a moment of silence as I start tallying in my head.

He looks down.  “I would have done the same thing.  Apollon, too.  It’s not that.”

I nod, swallowing.  Though I already sensed this from him, the words are helpful.  The doubt… the questioning.  They are easier to put away with spoken words of reassurance.  But if it’s not me… not death…  “What is it then?”

He takes a moment.  "It really got to me.  George and... the other kid."  He hesitates.  "I wasn't prepared for all this."  His voice drops off huskily at the end.

I'm frowning in the darkness, not sure, exactly, what he means.  I think he's trying to put voice to the unexplainable feelings that are chasing around inside of me as well.  It's like something is there, and it's trying to get out.  But you don't know if you want it to.  You don't know if it's even safe.  The whole thing with George's attachment to Jonas was just eerie.  In the end, George willingly went to his death for us.  No small thing.  Pretty monumental, if you consider that he was little more than a stranger to us.  But that’s just it.  He wasn’t.

Realizing the unknown without being able to access it is difficult at best.  A man gives his life for you and you don’t know why—just that you probably should be far more broken over it than you really are.  Traumatized by more than guilt.  By loss.  But it wasn’t just George.  I saw the look on Jonas' face when that dying boy said his name.  He was shocked straight through to the bone.  Somehow, knowing everything we do, we still never saw that coming.  That one name was like cement pouring between us, a bond fixed by the hands of Fate.  We were chasing my memories... and we found Jonas'.

Jonas' eyes flick to me now.  Is he thinking the same thing I am?  Do we fight against Fate, demand our freedom to be who we choose?  Or do we give in?  Am I really two different people?  Or am I just me, standing here, with just him?

He turns his whole body toward me now, and I think he's going to step forward, but he doesn't.  He shifts his weight.  Is he holding himself back?  "You're not just trying to save the Outpost, Eden."  My name, on the end, sounds like a reminder.  "Everything has gotten so far away from that, now.  I don't know if we'd ever get back there, even if we wanted to."

For just a moment, visions of Outpost Three flicker through my mind.  I miss it, however flawed it was.  I miss home.

"These towers," he says.  "They're not about saving anyone.  Not about Sentries.  They're like this:"  He holds out his wrist to me, and though I can't see it in the darkness, I know exactly what he means.  His scar forms a compass that points south.  "They're about finding you," he says, and his voice goes much softer.  "And really, Eden, I don't know if that's what you want at all."

After a moment, I clear my throat and find my voice.  "Does it even matter if I want it?" I ask.  "You do.  You've been waiting for these answers for a lot longer than I have.  If we don't try to find out where my memories lead, we may never find yours."  It takes me a bit before I can say the rest.  I push it out.  "Clearly our pasts are intertwined.  If we thought of it that way, we might have better luck."

There is a long silence while he studies me.  I don't know how well he can see me here, but I put on my best poker face and wait.

He turns halfway away from me, murmuring something I can't make out.  He's shaking his head.  "It doesn't matter," he says.  "You were right before.  I don't know if I want to be told who to be, either."

A little stab of pain jolts through my chest at those words.  I push it away.  "So..." I finally manage, "what are we going to do then?  I mean, where do we even go?"

Now, he throws me a smile, turning his face to me.  "I think we should let Fate decide."

I laugh, feeling suddenly and strangely OK.  "Good ol' Fate."

Just like that, our conversation is clearly done.  We turn and walk side-by-side back to the campfire.

Jack is still counting his nuts.  Probably for the third time at least.

"I'm so exhausted," I mutter, kicking the corners of my sleeping roll to flatten it out.

"No kidding," Apollon agrees.  He climbs up and begins unrolling his own blankets.

Jonas unfastens his blankets from his pack and walks toward a clear place, but he stops, his eyes on Jack.  Of course.  Jack doesn't have anything.  "Here, Jack," he says softly, tossing the blankets to him.  "Use these."  Then he turns to me and smiles.

My heart, without permission, starts flapping around like a bird with a broken wing.  I do my best to ignore it and concentrate instead on folding my covers back.  That doesn't stop Apollon from somehow catching my eye.  His expression is cautionary, a reminder.  I ignore that as well.  There are far worse things than sharing a pack with Jonas.  Far, far worse things.  We all settle in, and I'm nestled in the crook of his arm, and I fall asleep thinking that wherever Fate takes us, however much we’ve been through in the past, it will all be just fine so long as we're together.

Even the nightmares are not so bad with Jonas’ arms around me.

Chapter 28: Good Ol’ Fate

The river is wide.  Unfathomable in its strength and beauty.  The water sweeps away, moving, moving, and I know there is no way we will ever cross it.

Jonas and I stand at its edge, staring.  There is something about this much water.  Something about the power of it that is consuming.  We're breathless.  Silent.  Remade into children.

Apollon, on the other hand, is whooping joyfully.  "Look at this!"  He skids down the muddy bank to get closer to the water.  Jack is right behind him, a bundle of tension.  His eyes dart up and down the water, over and over again.  He talks to himself in a quick, low voice.

Apollon throws open his arms to embrace the view.  "Holy hell," he says, "who knew we'd get to do the Huck Finn thing?"

Jonas and I look at each other, eyebrows raising.

"I guess there's only two options, now," I say softly.  We're not crossing, so we can walk upriver, or downriver.  Upriver is kind of back the way we came.  I'm torn between trying to go back and going on.  But I don't need to make that decision, because, apparently, it's already been made.

"We need some logs," Apollon is saying, his blue eyes shining with excitement, dimples twitching.  "It won't take long, and then we've got a free ride as far south as we care to go."  He glances at Jonas when he says this.

Jonas takes in a long, deep breath and looks at me.

I push back the clawing panic and nod.  "Fate has spoken."

A fleeting smile passes his lips and I can't help but feel warm inside.  Those smiles are so rare.

"Good 'ol Fate," he says, and turns away to help Apollon.

In moments, they are dragging fallen logs to the river shore, making a little pile of them.  Jack perches on one of the logs, slightly in their way.  He keeps count of the logs they bring.  I stand to the side and watch it all uncertainly, arms crossed.  Eventually, I decide I really don't want to think about where all this is going and I busy myself passing out the last scraps of the squirrel we had for breakfast.

The boys finish their log pile and lash the logs together with rope from our packs.  By early afternoon we have a flat pallet that's big enough for all of us to get onto.  Apollon dusts off his hands and grins.  "All aboard."

At this point, I can no longer avoid acknowledging the inevitable course of our actions.  I find myself suddenly shaking my head at my tall, blonde friend.  "If you think I'm getting on that and floating down that river, you have another thing coming.  I'll walk, thank you."

"No one's walking," Apollon insists, but really, he looks like he's going to enjoy this argument.

I want to throw something at him already.

"You're getting on this raft one way or another," he smirks.  "We can do it the easy way or the hard way."

I glare at him, arms crossed.  "Don't you even think about it, you big oaf."

His smile widens wickedly and he steps toward me.

I start to dodge away, but I don't have to.  Jonas is between us before either of us can go anywhere.  He gives Apollon a speculative look—not sure what that means—and then turns to me.  He takes both my hands in his, holding them lightly.  Oh, god, I know this routine.  I try to look away before he meets my eyes with that deep, serious Jonas look, but I'm too late.  He's got me before I can even think of escape.

"Eden," he says, and his voice is so soft I feel myself melting.  I want to scream at him that this is not at all fair, but part of me offers myself up as a willing victim.  He doesn't even need to continue.

"You... are not... very nice," I manage to get out in utterly calm criticism of his manipulation, meeting those gorgeous green eyes.

He smiles and laughs, looking away, and that's just worse, because I really believe it's sincere.  How often does Jonas smile or laugh, and this, outright and broad, is so amazing.  His laugh and his smile are deep inside my soul.  I groan, closing my eyes.  The pain is almost real.  I slip my hands from his and trudge forward, as if a prisoner, to get on the stupid-ass raft.

"I just want to point out," I snap, turning back to them, "that you both are going to be the death of me.  And if we die, it is in no way or shape my fault."  I point my finger accusingly at Apollon, who laughs.  "This is your stupid idea.  And you."  I swing my finger to Jonas now.  "You're worse than him.  You're both idiots.  We're all going to die."

Of course, Jonas and Apollon are both chuckling away, finding this all entirely too amusing.  But I can hear Jack, beside me, whispering "We're all going to die.  We're all going to die."  This does not help my feeling of impending doom.

At least my two friends are, at times, gentlemen.  They insist that I get onto the deathcraft while the rest of them remove their boots and roll up their pant legs to wade into the icy water.

"Don't you dare let go," I warn them, and they think it's great fun.  All I can think about is all of us drowning.  I don’t imagine that Jonas, Apollon, or Jack know how to swim any more than I do.

Amazingly, the raft floats.  The river's current catches it quickly, and the boys have to scramble to get on.  Apollon immediately takes charge of his long stick, using it to guide us, or at least to look like he's guiding us—I don't believe it.  Really, this river is going to take us wherever it damned well feels like.

The water propels us into the wide span of river.  I'm on my knees, fingers grappling for a handhold on the logs beneath me.  The sense of motion is dizzying, terrifying, much like the first time I rode in a vehicle, but worse.  This brings with it the knowledge that I am utterly out of control.  That none of us are anything more than a speck of dirt being washed from the world's eye.  Surely everyone else shares this realization, but we all deal with it differently.  Jack seems to hide inside himself, refusing to look at his surroundings.  He counts his nuts, head practically buried in his bag.  Jonas curses softly under his breath, but remains standing, feet planted, bracing himself, face to the wind.  And Apollon, overgrown boy that he is, stands on the forward edge of the craft, arms spread to the sky, whooping and hollering in giddy abandon.  For just a moment I consider shoving him in.  But then Jonas and I are exchanging a look behind him—a look of shared affection—and we're laughing.  And I realize that I have never felt so free, or so alive, as now, with every choice given over, and the possibility of death lapping around me like a many-tongued beast.  Logic might say our quest is out of control, our purpose ruined, but our hearts are high,  and here is a moment of mad bliss.  Only an instant later, Jonas and I are at Apollon's sides, with our arms and voices reaching to touch a sky that in turn embraces us with possibilities.

***

Hours of drifting on an endless current have made me sleepy.  The sun is bright, and its reflection off the water has burned our faces.  Luckily, our winter clothing helps to shield us from the sun.  I'm lounging back on the raft, now, trying to ignore Jack.  He's chattered incessantly since we've been on the river.  There's no end to his counting, except the brief interludes when it is interspersed with the haunting whisper, "We're all going to die."

Apollon gives me a lazy, haughty look.  "You're the one who said it first."

I scowl at him.  "So," I mutter.  Then I throw my glare at Jack, who sees it, but pretends he doesn't.  He starts counting his nuts again.  I'm about to rip the whole bag from his hands and throw it into the water.  Instead, I clamp my jaw and take a deep breath.  I can't count backward in my mind, because Jack's numbers would only infiltrate my attempt at inner peace.  I turn away from him and look out over the lolling river.

I must truly be tired, because I nod off despite my frustration.  When I wake, I have the sense that I'm still in a dream.  The water passes by my face, painted in the reds and golds of the setting sun.  Jack is still muttering, but above him I hear Jonas and Apollon, chattering away.  The rise and fall of their voices, of laughter, seems to hover over the water.  I lay still for a long time, listening to them, though their words don't quite penetrate my sleepy awareness.  It's more the sense of nearness, the quality of tone, a dialect within the voices, but separate from the words themselves.

I quietly roll onto my back and look at them.  They're sitting side by side on the front end of the raft, unaware of me.  Faces turned slightly to each other, I can just see the hint of easy smiles down the curve of their cheeks.  Their shoulders and backs are loose, without tension.  Everything about their manner is relaxed and free.  They share a brotherhood as well as a friendship.  This is a place where Jonas is happy.

Laying here, listening to him, I realize for the first time that I have no idea who he is.  That he has always been closed off to me, except in brief, rare moments.  All the time I've known him, we've had reasons to shut each other out.  We've been struggling to survive, yes, but we've also been absorbed in our own heads—dodging distrust, trudging through grief.  I've wanted to know Jonas—even thought I did.  But I know Apollon a thousand times better, because he doesn't hide himself from me.  And now, with a glimpse that awakens a new longing in me, I find myself remembering Apollon's warning as we sat around the campfire in the cave.  Of course I should heed it.  Of course I should listen to the advice of my friend, who does know Jonas.  Who truly believes he will break my heart.  Why then, does that seem like so much to ask of myself?  I close my eyes, sighing.  The remaining sun plays across my eyelids.  I remember, for some reason, Apollon saying "I didn't know you were a pyromaniac."  I groan and rub my eyes.  Then they're looking back at me, and I have to pull myself out of my thoughts and pretend to be normal.

"You're not getting raft-sick, are you?" Apollon asks as I sit up and face them.

"I'm fine.  Hungry.  Any chance of food?"

"Probably not," Jonas laughs.  “We'll need to get out of this river."

I look longingly toward the shore.  On one side the land is above us, a low cliff.  The other is heavily wooded.  A good place to hunt, I imagine.  We could even build a fire and find a place to camp.  "Think we can actually get out?"

"Sure."  Apollon goes for his long stick.  The rest of us start paddling with pieces of wood that they heaped on the raft before we left.  It only takes us an hour or so to get close to the edge.  When we're not too far off, we pass something on the shore.  All of us peer into the twilight to make it out.  It looks like a building—falling apart.  More ruins, maybe.  We stand silently on the raft and watch it go.  Then we resume our paddling, and maybe another five minutes or so later, we make shore.  We drag the raft up onto the bank and secure it, then scout the nearby area for a good spot to build a fire.

The trees are dense, here.  There's no sign of life.  But while we are building the fire, Apollon climbs up into a tall tree to have a look around.  He's up there for quite a while.  We stand below, deciding not to light the fire until he gives us the all clear.

Finally, he comes down.  "Nothing," he says, dropping to the ground.  "No lights for as far as you can see in any direction.  I couldn't really make out the forest, but there's got to be something up there.  We should hike back and check it out in the morning."

Jonas nods and stoops to light the fire.

I squint across at Apollon.  "What took you so long up there, then?"

He just smiles.  "I was looking at the stars."

I glance up, but the tree canopy covers the sky from here.

He tugs me by the arm and I follow him back down toward the river.  Above us is a swath of open sky.  The dark is growing around us, and above, the stars are brilliant.  They have never seemed so huge or so close.

I glance at Apollon, and he's just looking up.  His eyes flick to me, and I expect some quote to follow, but he says nothing.  Just looks back at the sky, his eyes full of wonder.  Some things, I suppose, demand silence.

Moments later, we walk back up the bank, humbled by the world around us, feeling small.

"I used to read because the world wasn't big enough," Apollon whispers to me as we go.  Anything more than a whisper feels wrong in this hushed place.  "But now I know that there could never be enough books to hold all this world."

I meet his gaze with a knowing smile.  After everything we've seen—everything that we never expected to see—I am only just beginning to have the idea that maybe this is only a glimpse.  Maybe this is only the start of our adventure.

When we get back to the fire, Jonas is gone.  Jack has an armful of new nuts, and he's adding them to his bag.  Counting.  I suppress a growl, throwing a look at Apollon, who widens his eyes.

"Jonas must've gone hunting," Apollon says, and busies himself with setting up the rest of the camp.

We clear away some fallen sticks and unroll all our bedding.  Apollon rummages through his pack until he finds some medical supplies.  He pulls out some catgut and a needle.  "Perfect," he says, holding them up like a prize.

I squint at him from across the fire, looking confused.  "Are you hurt?"

"Nope."  He doesn't bother to explain to me what he's doing, but he works for a while on bending the needle into a u-shape.

I peek across at his work occasionally, but honestly, I'm not sure I want to know.  I just hope none of us needs to be sewn up anytime soon.

It's not terribly long before Jonas comes back, carrying a rabbit by the ears.

I catch sight of him, then glance at Apollon.  "Look," I say, "your weapon of choice."

He looks at the rabbit and starts laughing.

Jonas tosses the carcass down.  "I killed it..."

I sigh.  Apollon is still working on... whatever.  I climb up, grab the rabbit, and take it to the side to clean it.

"Save some guts for me," Apollon hollers after me.

I give him a doubtful look over my shoulder.  I'm really not sure I want to know where all this is going.  Catgut, needle, and rabbit entrails.  What's he going to make out of that?  Some sort of bunny zombie?  I shiver and turn my thoughts to the more practical matter of preparing dinner.  But in the end, I do it.  I save Apollon some guts, and even deliver them to him on a bunny-skin platter.

***

It's the middle of the night.  I'm sound asleep.  Warm and comfortable, with Jonas' arms nestled around me.  Shrieking sends me flying out of my pack and bolting to my feet.  The boys are up instantly, knives drawn, trying to make sense of what's happening.  There's just a moment where we all blink around in the dim light from the fire's coals.  Our eyes fall on Jack.  He's still shrieking.

Wrestling around in his pack, kicking, flailing.  There are words in there somewhere, but I can't tell what they are.  Just fragments.  He's dreaming, I think.  I've had those dreams before.

I drop to my knees beside him, put my hand on his shoulder.  "Jack," I say softly, but I don't think he hears me.  He just keeps screaming and flailing.  "Jack," I say, louder, shaking harder.  "Jack, it's a dream.  You're OK.  You're safe."

He startles awake, but it's no better.  He's still screaming.  Panicked, hyperventilating.  His eyes are open and looking around, but finding no comfort.

I pat his shoulder.  "You're OK."  I want to help him, but feel completely unable.  I think of all the nights my friends have helped me climb out of the claws of nightmares.  But Jack is different.  There is a distance I don't know how to breach—don't know if I want to.

It doesn't matter.  He flops over suddenly, throwing his head into my lap.  He clings to me with shaking arms, like a terrified child clinging to its mother.  He's sobbing violently, his fingers clawing at me, and he's not going to let go.  For just an instant, I recoil, wanting to shove him away.  But then I'm petting his head, and I strangely can't see him through my blurry eyes.  I whisper again and again, "It's OK, Jack.  You're safe.  You're OK."  And I want more than anything in the world for that to be true.

Jack sobs and sobs.  There is nothing I can do, nothing I can say to make him feel better.  I sit with him, stroke away his tears, and promise him that we'll look after him.  Crying it out takes a long time—time that I'm in my head, pushing back my own memories, but also furious.  Sentries are stupid, I'm thinking.  But they cannot be blamed.  They're simply faulty machinery.  The Forefathers are to blame for this.  They were the ones who were stupid.  I feel something stirring inside me.  A mess of questions, anger, and the edge of a realization I can't quite verbalize yet.  I think of that hand—that horrible severed hand—and I know that everything is going to end up there.

Jonas startles me out of my thoughts, crouching down in front of me.  Jack is now just shuddering, eyes clamped, his chest involuntarily choking in air now and then.  Jonas has a whole armload of nuts, and Jack's bag as well.  "Jack," he coaxes softly, "look what I brought you.  More nuts."

Jack slowly opens his eyes.

Jonas gently pries one of Jack's arms from me and places a nut in his hand.  "One."

In only a moment, Jonas has Jack sitting up, counting nuts.  Jonas meets my gaze, and a little smile tugs at the corners of his mouth.  He turns back to Jack with an unexpected tenderness, and counts as he passes him nuts.  For the longest time, I watch them, seeing something I think I have never seen before.  Apollon brings us water warmed on the fire.  I sip, and watch.  Counting.  Recounting.  I'm yawning, but I don't want to sleep.  Every once in a while, Jonas eyes flick to me.  His voice is so soft as it touches each number.  He almost drops a nut as he passes it to Jack, and they share a little smile as well.  It hits me that this might seem the most mundane, pointless thing in the world to someone who didn't understand.  But it has the deepest significance for us, who do, and I know beyond doubt that I will long remember this night, sitting, counting nuts when we all should be sleeping.

Chapter 29: iPad

Apollon and Jack are still sound asleep when Jonas and I drag ourselves out of bed and into the grey morning.  It's not early, but it feels like it.  The sun has not yet gotten its strength.

Leaving my cocoon of warmth is less than desirable, but laying there when we're both awake, pretending not to be, is not the wisest call either.

I put some more wood on the fire and poke at it, watch the flames slowly crawl up the logs.  Then Jonas and I retreat to a large rock within view of the campsite, but far enough away where we won't disturb our friends if we talk softly.  I sit looking off into the deep woods, and he faces me, cross-legged.  Almost immediately he's laughing, saying my hair is a mess, and his hand goes to the back of my neck, where his fingers bring order to my locks but taunt my nerves into a tangle.

"So where do you think we'll end up?" he asks, as if he has no clue what he's doing.

I eye him sideways, then grab his arm—his other arm.  His hand drops from my hair and rests lightly on the rock as he watches to see what I'm doing.

Slowly, cautiously, I tug his arm toward me.  There's a fear underneath that he'll yank it away if he suspects me.  I'm deliberate.  I don't want to surprise him.  My eyes only leave his when my fingers are on his coat sleeve.  I push it up.  My heart races, because he hasn't pulled away.  I place my index finger on his wrist, touching the place where his wrist and hand intersect, on the lowest point of his compass-shaped scar.  Here, is what the voice in my head says, but it doesn't come out. I look at his face again.  This doesn't need words.

He only hesitates for a moment, and surprisingly, he still does not yank his arm away.  He doesn't even look uncomfortable.  His eyelids come halfway down over those green eyes.  "It doesn't matter anymore, you know."

He lets me chew on that a second.

Then he leans in a little.  Somehow, instead of me having hold of his wrist, he's got hold of my hand.  "You're right.  I've been thinking about it a lot."  He shakes his head.  "We're not those people.  We're just... us."

I'm searching his expression.  It was my idea, but I'm not entirely sure I believe it.  I'm not sure I want him to.  But I see a freedom in his eyes that I have never seen before.  A release.  And I cannot help but feel joy for him, that he's discovered it, even as part of me is sinking.  The thing about being erased is, you always feel like there is something, somewhere, that you are missing.  Not knowing torments you.  There's always a panic underneath.  A need to return.  But what if we could actually set that need aside?  What if we could be whole?  Truly something new?  Maybe for some of us it's possible.  Apollon seems to have never been anything other than Apollon.  And now, maybe Jonas is finding a way to that place.  But I'm not there yet, and I don't know if I ever will be.  There's something in me that's not normal.  A part of me that hung on, despite the erasure.  I don't know how it got there, or how it stayed, but I don't think I'll be able to let go until I've put all these mysteries to rest.  So in a sense, I feel like I'm watching Jonas turn into a butterfly, and here I am stuck being a caterpillar.  I feel like he's flying away from me, and as beautiful as that might be, I can't help but notice how alone I am.

Maybe I've gone too long without speaking, or maybe he reads all the emotion and doubt in my eyes.  "It's hard at first," he says, squeezing my hand.  "I know.  But every day you're finding out who you are.  And look at us."  His eyes dart around the forest around us—the solemn trees, still in the morning light.  I breathe the smell of campfire and river.  He smiles softly.  His words are just as soft, but they ring through the forest.  "We're free."

I look down at the rock we're sitting on, unable to form a reply.  I'm all over the place.  Happy, sad, feeling the strength of friendship, and the heartache of being alone.  My thoughts go one way, and then another.  I'm OK with it, and I'm not.  I want to stay here, and I want to get up and run.  But most of all, I don't want him to let go of my hands.

He does.  Letting go is inevitable.

Apollon and Jack are stirring in the camp, and a little twitch shoots through Jonas—so subtle I wouldn't have seen it, but I feel it through his hands.  He drops mine and looks toward the fire.  Toward our friends.  "'Bout time," he calls.

Apollon stands, rubbing his hair, yawning at us, but there's something speculative in his look.  "I hope you two made breakfast."

"Sure," I say, climbing off the rock and heading toward camp.  "If you count leftover cold rabbit as breakfast."  I divvy up what's left of last night's dinner, and we sit in silence, picking the meat from the bones.  It doesn’t seem like much.  We'll need to do some more hunting.  "So, we're hiking back up to that... building?"

Apollon looks like he's just remembered something.  He licks the last of the rabbit grease from his fingers, then scurries back up the tree.  Jonas and I stand below looking up.  Meanwhile, Jack is picking up more nuts.

"Anything interesting?" Jonas calls up.

"Hard to see," Apollon answers.  "But I'm pretty sure there's more than just one building."  He comes back down the tree and they look at each other... some sort of silent communication.

Jonas nods his head toward the distance.  "Let's go check it out."

We make sure our raft is secure, debate leaving our packs behind as well, and end up taking them with us.  Who knows what we'll run into, or where our journey could take us.  Better to be prepared.  The edge of the river is thick with trees.  We walk quietly, listening for anything we might hunt on the way.  We flush out one rabbit on our walk, and both Jonas and I miss it.  He retrieves our thrown knives from the same spot in the ground, and gives me a long look as he hands mine back to me.  I take it and say nothing, wondering if he woke up from erasure with his knife-throwing skills as well.

The walk is a lot longer than the five minutes we drifted down the river, but we make it to the ruins in about half an hour.  Apollon is right.  There's more than just one building.  It's a small clump of buildings, really, most of them set back a little off the river.  The one we saw is right on the edge, its feet in the water, and crumbling the worst out of any of them.  Not to say that anything here is in good shape.  Much like the ruins outside of Minneapolis, these buildings are missing roofs in places, walls in others.  Everything looks ready to fall in on itself.  We pick our way through them, afraid to touch much of anything, lest we send it falling to the ground.

There is one building, made entirely of stone, that seems strangely intact.  The roof is gone, and whatever door there was is reduced to a mass of splinters hanging at a slant.  We step over the remains of the door and walk inside, looking around.  The building is wide and low, and there are still things in it.  Piles where things that were once things have rotted, much like the door.  It's difficult to tell what a lot of it was.  But then there are things that are still mostly solid.  A broken piece of pottery with rusted metal poking out the top.  On one surface, a cup.  I pick it up and turn it over in my hands.  It still seems usable, though I cannot make out what the words on it used to say.  Quietly, perhaps afraid to speak, we poke through the remnants of another world.

In one corner, a metal desk has been deserted by two of its legs.  It lays diagonally, its contents overturned.  On further inspection, I find a drawer.  It squeals as I force it open, drawing my friends' attention from across the room.  They look at me, but don't approach.  Not until after I pull the pink thing from inside.  There's a casing of rubber that flakes in my hands.  I let it fall away.  Inside, protected by the aged case, is a hand-sized rectangle.  One side thin, flaking glass.  The other is white plastic.  There's a picture of an apple, or maybe a peach, with a bite taken out of it.  Beneath, a word.  "…Ih-pad?" I ask, holding it out so my friends can see.  The word sounds funny in my mouth, like something incomplete.  Like only the ending of a word.  "What's an iPad?"

Apollon is at my side, grabbing the thing away from me.  He turns it over and over.  There is a crease across his brow, and a look of disbelief in his eyes.

I want to ask, but I don't.

"Can I have this?" he finally asks.

I nod.  Jonas and I exchange a look as our friend tucks the thing into his coat.  I watch Apollon turn away.  He shivers and walks to the next room to poke around some more.

Suddenly, I don't want to be here anymore.  I walk back outside, where I see Jack scrambling out from a hole in another building.  He's got something with him.  He sits down on what used to be steps, and opens a plastic box.  He begins counting something small from inside.

I go over and sit next to him.  "Hey, Jack," I say, a little curious about what he's got, but mostly just wanting a distraction.  The box is full of little metal bits, and some spools of string that look like catgut.  I'm not sure what any of it is meant to be.  Jack dumps out a little plastic container into my hand, and I help him count the things back into the box.  It keeps us busy until Apollon and Jonas are done rummaging.

When they finally come to join us, Apollon looks at the stuff we're counting.  "After all my creative improvising, too."

I frown up at him.

He just smiles and says, "You'll see."

Apollon and Jonas wander off to do some more exploring.  I stay with Jack on the steps.  He hums that child's song over and over, but he never does the part with scary face.  The humming isn't so bad.  I can tell he's feeling a little restless, and so am I.  I'm not sure why, but I don't want to be here.  Even though we really have no plan, I feel like we should be moving.  Going somewhere.  Doing something.  I can't help but think back on the Outpost and wonder if everyone is alright.  I wish for all the world that Miranda and Neveah were with us.  And Matt.  I wish he was with us, too.

I'm laughing at myself then, picturing what that would be like.  As if things aren't weird enough.  Jack throws me a questioning, half-alarmed look.  Then he starts laughing, too, as if he could just see the chaos in my head.  There's something so disarming about the way he smiles—something so real.  We just keep laughing and laughing, bouncing off of each other.  And I feel better.  Really, truly better.

Apollon and Jonas come back to find us still giggling.

Jonas has some sort of largish bird carcass by the feet.  Something he's obviously caught roosting in the wrong place.  He smiles as he shows it off  "Lunch.  There's an old chimney back there that'll be a good place to make a fire."  He glances at the sky that is still grey and filled with clouds.  "It might rain.  Maybe we should stay here."

I stand up and brush myself off.  "I'd rather not.  Lunch, OK, but I want to get going.  I don't want to stay here."

We all move to the half-standing building with the intact chimney, where we build a fire and roast the bird.

"Here," Jonas says softly, offering me the choicest part of the meal, along with a lingering smile.  Then he leans back against the hearth wall and munches a drumstick.  "So what now?"

I chew on a mouthful of meat and consider.  Keep moving.  Keep going.  That's the only answer.  Again I'm thinking about white towers, and strange men who seem to know me, and how on earth it could all make sense.  That's when I know I want to continue our quest, despite everything.  I want to find another tower.  But that would mean going back into a city, possibly getting stuck there, or worse.  After the last one, do I really want to risk leading my friends back inside the barrier?  I find myself shaking my head, staring into the fire.

Apollon, standing next to me, says, "We could stay here.  Or build our own place in the wilderness."  He gives me a sultry look and pokes me in the stomach.  "You know, repopulate the earth and all."

I turn crimson—half because Apollon hasn't hit on me in so long I was absolutely not prepared for it, and half because I'm sure this was a little jab aimed at Jonas, who is right there.  I swat Apollon's arm away and narrow my eyes at him.  "I'm not repopulating anything with you."

He starts laughing, just laughing at me.

I roll my eyes and make myself look at Jonas.  "I know I'm an idiot..."

Before I can continue I hear Apollon muttering at my side, "You are an idiot."

I ignore him, and finish.  "But I can’t help but want to find another tower."

Silence.  Now Apollon actually looks at me.  "You are an idiot," he says, loud enough for everyone to hear this time.

My idea sinks in.  Jack starts humming again.

Jonas closes his eyes for a moment, then looks at me.  "What about Fate?" he asks, the last thing I expect.

I take a deep breath through my mouth.  The answer comes back out before I know I have it.  "Fate can decide.  There's got to be a city along this river somewhere.  When we're able to see one, we stop and that's our city."  I don’t add the trailing thought: Hopefully we don’t all die.

Jonas considers my plan, but Apollon shakes his head, rubbing his forehead.  "No," he says, slowly, like he's putting a lot of thought into it.  "Eden, we're going south."

"So?"

"So that's where we're going," he insists, like he's not up for arguing about it.  The slightest flick of his eyes in Jonas' direction clues me in.

I turn and look at Jonas.  Does he even still want to chase after his scar?  And if he doesn't, is he going to tell Apollon about it?

Jonas hesitates, eyes locked with mine.  He breaks my gaze and looks at Apollon.  He nods.  "We're still going south," he says.  "That's where the river's taking us.  There's no stopping that.  But it won't hurt to find Eden's tower along the way."

Won’t it?  Can’t it?  A flood of panic rises in me.  I’m about to take everything back.

Jonas eyes swing back to me.  "If that's what Fate wants, it'll be there."

There’s a finality to the words.  Decision done.  Fate will decide.  But can I trust Fate to take care of us?  Any city we go into could be a death sentence.  It's not a smart decision.  Fate.  Is there even any such thing?

Jonas must sense my hesitation.  He gets up and heads outside.  "It's done," he calls back.

Yep.  Decision final.

Chapter 30: Any Such Thing

We've lashed together a mess of floatable scrap salvaged from the ruins, making our raft several times larger than before.  Some of it, at one point, might have even been a boat.  Apollon has packed mud in the center and fashioned a little tent of blankets around it.  He assures us that we can have a campfire right there in the middle.  I, on the other hand, do not think this seems like the wisest of ideas, but he insists it's OK, saying it worked for Huck Finn, whoever that is.  I suppose if our raft catches fire there’s plenty of water around to put it out.

We float out into the river once again, guiding our little craft with oars that actually work.  The sun is setting behind the western bank of trees.  A still, quiet evening.  The river's hand pulls us in and flings us onward, but aside from the initial lurch I have the feeling that we are just drifting lazily down the darkening channel.

Nighttime on the river is mysterious and beautiful.  We can cover more ground if we travel at night, and we also have a much better chance of seeing any city we might pass.  Apollon gets our fire going.  Miraculously, it stays where it's meant to.  He takes the first watch while the rest of us sleep curled up around the edges of the fire.  I still end up sharing packs with Jonas, because one of our bedrolls was used to make the tent.  I fall asleep snuggled against him, deeply enjoying the comfort of his breath on my neck, and how right that feels.

When I wake in the middle of the night, Jonas is gone, and Apollon is climbing in with me.  "I'm not sleeping with Jack," he mutters quietly.  I just laugh, half-asleep, and snuggle into the crook of his arm.  I don't wake again until the early hours of the morning.  Apollon and Jack are still sound asleep.  Jonas has been on watch for the longer part of the night.  He must be exhausted.  I quietly climb out of bed and go to relieve him.

"Your turn for some sleep," I murmur, coming up beside him as he turns to me.

He just looks past me and smiles.  "Maybe I'll wait."

I glance back, remembering the situation with the packs.  I don't know that Jonas and Apollon would fit in the same pack, and somehow I have trouble imagining either of them curling up with Jack.  I give Jonas a crooked smile.  "I guess that was to be expected.  Sorry."

He smiles back.  A bit of firelight reaches to touch one side of his face.  "It's OK.  I'm in good company."

The little flutter inside me is unexpected—or maybe it's his words that are unexpected.  Jonas has never been so warm to me before, so inviting.  I meet his eyes and there's this little spark that is not from the fire.  It sets an inferno burning inside me.  I feel dizzy, sucker-punched, full of confusion.  But I don't want it to stop....  Jonas is the worst of drugs for me.  I'm an addict.  His poison is in my veins and I don't think I'll ever be clean.  Just the tiniest taste, and I can't pull away.

He offers a quiet laugh at my silence, his smile increasing.  "Did you sleep well?" he murmurs.  He moves closer to me, maybe so we can hear each other without waking the others, or maybe unconsciously, the way I catch myself leaning closer to him.

"Yeah."  I turn a touch away from him, angling my body toward the ribbon of water before us.  Dawn is just breaking in the east and the river is revealed in colors of heaven.  "Like a rock.  All this traveling is tiring, huh?"

"A bit," he agrees, considering the water.  His eyes move to my face, and his hand to my hip, one finger hooking up under the bottom of my coat into my belt loop.  He tugs me closer.  I stumble a small step toward him.  His other hand reaches behind me and comes back with a handful of fur.  "You're shedding."

I snatch my fur away from him and start stuffing it back into my coat, but he hasn't let go of my belt loop.

"Do you really still need all that?" he asks.  "It's not that cold here."

It's not, but it could just be a warm spell.  I give him a sideways look.  "I'll get rid of it when I'm ready."

"And when will that be," he says, "Stinky?"  The taunt in his voice is not even close to malicious, and something about the reference to the first day we knew each other sends another wave of warmth surging through me.  It solidifies something.  Our journey together.  Our bond as family.

I quit stuffing my fur back into my coat and throw it at him instead.  He starts laughing, and instead of just batting it away, he has hold of my hands.  We wrestle with each other, giggling, until he grabs me and pulls me hard against him, pinning my arms between us so I can't accost him anymore.  I yelp at the unexpectedness of it, but then we're just looking into each other's eyes, breathing a little too hard, our faces playing smiles that are only shadows of the emotions inside.

Apollon coughs, a fortunate but undesired interruption, and rolls from his pack, staggering to his feet.

Jonas releases me and I step back.

My blonde friend yawns and stretches, and pretends like he doesn't know what he's interrupting.  "Seriously?" he says to Jonas through another yawn.  "You're still awake?"  He looks over at Jack, who is sleeping like a baby.  "Ah.  Well.  Here, get some rest."  He leaves the pack turned down for Jonas, who glances at me, then accepts the offering.

Apollon, always thinking about food, says, "Time to get some breakfast."

I'm still not sure what he's up to, but he messes around with some of the things in Jack's plastic box, tying a tiny metal hook onto a piece of the string.  Then he sticks some of his saved—and smelling—rabbit guts onto the metal bit, and dangles it into the water.  He's fashioned the other end to a stick that he secures onto the deck of our raft.

"Uh... fishing?" I ask after a moment.

He nods approvingly.  "You finally figured it out."

"I just don't see how a fish is going to find your little hook in all this."  I make a sweeping gesture of the river.

He shrugs.  "We'll find out."  Then he glances back at Jonas' still form, looks at me, and rolls his eyes.

I narrow my eyes at him.

"Idiot," he says very quietly, shaking his head.

"I am not," I protest, just as quietly.

"You absolutely are," he whispers, leaning toward me.  We're sitting cross-legged at the front edge of the raft.  "I've already told you, you're going to end up with a broken heart.  I know, Eden.  I'm trying to look out for you.  I don't know why you won't trust me."

I give him a sad look.  "I do," I say.  "I trust you."

"Then why aren't you listening?"

My forehead scrunches up pitifully before my even-more-pitiful answer:  "I'm trying."

Apollon sighs.  There's a little rustle of blankets, and he turns his head to look toward Jonas.  His eyes glaze over with an idea.  He reaches toward me, his arms finding my waist.

"Um.  What're you doing?"  I press my hands against his chest, pushing back gently.  I keep my voice low, but clearly my face is written in horror and confusion.

He gives me a look that says 'duh'.  "I'm saving you from your little crush," he murmurs, pulling me insistently toward him.  "I refuse to watch you crash and burn."

Somehow I keep my arms and feet between us.  "I'm not taking advice from you," I protest.  My voice climbs a little louder than I intend it to.  "You're worse than an alley cat!  What do you know about love!"  I cringe inwardly, even as the word comes out of my mouth.  Even as I realize how audible it was on the quiet river.

What Apollon does makes it worse.  Or better.  I really don't know, but I'm pretty sure I want to push him off the raft.  He gives me the sultry look, his voice taking on that quality, but also pitched loud enough to be heard.  "I've never wanted to change that before," he says.  "But for you, Eden... you make me want to be... I don't know.  Different.  I feel so... right... when I'm with you."

There is a span of horrible silence while I gawk at him.  Another barely audible rustle of blankets.  I think I want to cry.  Instead, I jab Apollon hard in the gut.  He muffles the sound of his pain and narrows his eyes at me.  Mingled with the frustration in his look, there is acceptance.  Forgiveness.  He doesn't have to say to me that pain sometimes serves a purpose.

I look away from him, into the water.  I hate him for this, but even so I'm thankful for his attempts to shield me from myself.  I'm thankful that in all this world there is someone who cares if I get hurt.  Tears catch on the brim of my eyelashes, but I'm not sure if they're about losing a lover, or gaining a friend.

Apollon reaches over now with one hand and brushes my cheek.  I look at him, and his blue eyes are full of understanding.  He regrets that I'm hurting, but he still believes he's done the right thing.

Maybe he has.

I laugh softly through my nose, watching the water again.  Who's to say that he's done anything other than pissed Jonas off?  But then, which of us knows Jonas better?  That is a very good—and very complicated—question.  I can't answer it.  Apollon can't answer it.  There is one person who will answer it, and that will come in time.

We're quiet and still for a long, long time, watching the water lap around the raft, watching the sun take wing in the sky.  In the silence, I breathe and try to let this all go.  I think of Fate.  I imagine giving myself into her hands.  At some point, as we wind down the river, I feel the release of it.  Whatever happens, happens.  It's all exactly like this river.  We'll be carried somewhere by forces we can't see, but can maybe sense.  We'll do our best to survive.  And in some moments, we'll stop and see the beauty of it all.

I reach down and trail my fingers in the cold water, trying to see through the murkiness to what might be below.  "It's so pretty," I say softly.  "So... mysterious."

I don't look at Apollon, but I can hear the grin in his voice when he answers.  "It is," he says.  He lays down on his belly so he can peer into the river.

I stretch out beside him and we're like kids trying to see the bottom of a well.  I wonder what could possibly be down there.  I wonder how many lives this water has touched.

Next to me, Apollon murmurs, "'The face of the water, in time, became a wonderful book—a book that was a dead language to the uneducated passenger, but which told its mind to me without reserve, delivering its most cherished secrets as clearly as if it uttered them with a voice.'"

I lift my head to look at him.  "Who was that?"

A moment later, he pulls his eyes from the water and looks at me.  "Mark Twain," he smiles.

"And who was he?" I ask, leaning on one elbow.

Apollon just shrugs, his smile broadening.  "I think he must have been a friend of the river."

Chapter 31: Used To

There are things I'm getting used to.  I'm getting used to the feel of moving down the river.  I'm getting used to the taste of fish.  I'm getting used to Jack's counting and humming.  I'm getting used to passing endless banks and forests without so much as a glimpse of anything that might be a city.  Jonas' distance—I am not getting used to that.

He's so perfectly polite to me.  There are occasional smiles.  Joking around, even.  The difference is hard to put my finger on.  It's there, though, in between us, like the little space between our bodies when we sleep in the same pack.  It's in the silence where there used to be words.  In the look I can't read but can feel.  It's in me, drenched in longing I wish I was brave enough to put away.  Lost in thoughts that are more twisted than the river.

Something is missing.  I want to fight the pain with activity, but there's nowhere to go, nothing to do.  I pace our raft.  I count nuts with Jack.  I volunteer to skin, gut, and cook every stinking fish.  Apollon tries to soothe me with tales, but sometimes he looks worried.  Maybe he's thinking that he was too late.

We've decided to keep going—day and night, I don't know why.  We stop so seldom, but one day we are forced to seek shore to pass an epic storm.  It's only rain, but it's freezing.  I stand in it for too long, wanting to be soaked.  Apollon yanks me out of it, back to our little fire, where he throws a blanket over my head to shield me from the rain, and also uses it to rub down my arms.

"You really are an idiot," he mutters as he attempts to dry me off.  "Who do you think you are?  King Lear?"  I ignore him and stare into the flames.  I can feel Jonas looking at me from across the fire.

Luckily, I don't get sick from my little moment of madness, but about a week later, Apollon does.  It's not bad—a cold.  We push on, insisting he stay in bed.  I force him to eat fish broth, and he laughs about how he liked it better when I fed him rat broth.  We're all getting tired of fish, not that any of us ever liked it.  I have a feeling, though, that he's trying to distract me, despite being ill.  It doesn't work very well, not with Jonas glancing at us occasionally, his thoughts carefully shielded behind his eyes.  It's the one time, when he thinks I'm not looking and I see him swallow—that's the time that gets me.  I look away, trying to think of other things.  But I'm thinking of Jonas, of his loyalty to Apollon, and how I would love him just for that, even if...  even if.  The thoughts won't seem to go away, so I subvert them.  Maybe it's not loyalty.  Maybe it's just that it's not that big of a deal to him.  I hold fast to the decision that was, at first, Apollon's.  It has become my own, despite my heart's resistance.  I will walk this thick path of torment, and one day I will see clear sky on the other side.  I'm resolved.

One day, the pain feels like it falls flat on its face.  Oh, it's still there, but it's horizontal.  I focus even harder on things to do.  I whittle a stick into a sharp point, not that I know what I'm going to do with it.  I get Jack started on sorting the nuts.  I make a necklace out of fishing string and metal bits.  I sew a hole in Apollon's pant leg.  I clean more fish.

I watch the shoreline at night, waiting for my moment.  Now, desperately compelled to do something, anything, the fear and disgust I felt after George’s death is giving way to a kind of reckless abandon.  If only I had something to use it on.  "Where are all the cities?" I complain.

Jonas snuffs air out his nose in answer.  He says nothing about Fate.

The days move on and on, turning to weeks, possibly more.  I lose count.  Then there's one afternoon when it's suddenly so warm that I want to take off my coat for the first time in as long as I can remember.  I unfasten the buttons and peel it off.  Wads of fur come off with it, and some, sticking to me, suddenly release and float into the subtle breeze.  I look up, and Jonas is watching me from where he sits.  He blinks, and there's no comment.  I don't say anything.  I shake my coat out and watch what's left of my fur land in clumps on the water.

Jonas turns his face away, like he's busy watching our course.

I toss my jacket down and sit on the other side of the raft, picking little bits of rabbit hair off of my arm.  There are more ruins coming up along the shore, but I'm not really interested.  We've seen a lot of broken down buildings, and to be honest, they creep us out.  Perhaps we should be searching through them, but none of us really want to.  Especially not Apollon.  So, looking behind us, I watch them drift away.

Only a moment later, Apollon is yelling for oars.  We leap up and get them, straining to see what's going on.  Ahead in the river, there's something.  A broken span.  Huge.  It hangs diagonally into the river and the current whips around the place where it breaks the water, sending a splash of white froth tossing on the air.

We're paddling to get out of the way of the rough place, aiming to pass under where there is a clear path.  Still, I can't help but gawk at the structure—another something from our Forefathers, no doubt.  Our stupid Forefathers.

"Is that... a bridge?" I ask as we get closer.  I try to imagine what it would take to build a bridge across water this wide.  It hits me.  How could they possibly do that and be stupid?

We manage to clear the bridge, passing through its shade.  It's not that big of a deal, but I'm shaking like we've narrowly missed death.  A moment later, I realize that it has nothing to do with the river.  The adrenaline moving through my veins is something else entirely.

I join Apollon where he sits on one corner of the raft.  As I cross my legs and take a seat next to him, I say, "They weren't stupid."

He looks at me, his face shadowed with his own dark thoughts, and says nothing.

"They were amazing," I say.  "They did all sorts of amazing things.  Sentries, even—they're amazing.  Stupid, but amazing.  Their design is not stupid.  It's just the way that they act.  So how can they be both things?"

His eyes scan my face, searching, like they will find an answer there.  Finally, he looks away, his thoughts drifting out over the muddy water.  He's quiet for a long time, his fingers playing over the cargo pocket on his pants, and something flat inside.  Finally he says, "Stupid by design."

The words, sinking in, feel like a betrayal.  I shake my head, wanting to refuse the idea.  "How could they—"  My voice cracks.  "How could the Forefathers do that to us?  Why?  Why would they?"

Apollon manages the slightest shake of his head.  He doesn't seem to have an answer, or want to find one.

After a long time, it's Jonas' voice that answers, from across the raft.  "Maybe they didn't want us to be OK."

I look over my shoulder at him.  He's turned away.  He flings a stick out into the water and watches it move away on the waves.

I turn back to Apollon.  "Do you think that's true?" I ask.  My voice demands an answer from him, but before he can form one, I ask another question.  "That thing we found—what was it?  It bothered you.  Is that because Jonas is right?"  My eyes flit to his pocket, realizing what is inside.

Apollon takes his hand away and sighs—a long sigh, like he's tired.  Like he's thought about this time and time again, and one more time is just too much.  "I don't know," he says, finally.  "The thing... it's something I've read about.  I didn't think it was real.  But just because it exists—physically, I mean—that doesn't mean it can do all the things people claimed it could."

"How do we find out?"

"I wish Miranda was here," he says, which is a very odd thing for Apollon to say, indeed.  "She'd know more.  She might understand it.  It doesn't do anything, as far as I can tell... but it could be broken.  I mean, it's older than old.  From before the Turn, presumably."

For just a moment, thinking of Miranda takes my mind off of these questions.  Instead, I'm worrying about my friend.  Does she even exist anymore?

"It doesn't make sense," Apollon says, looking at Jonas.  "I mean, we could probably come up with all sorts of conspiracies.  It would seem that we've been in some sort of prison, and the Forefathers are out there laughing at us.  Only, I don't see any sign of them, except maybe that hand that Eden told us about.  I just... I really don't get it."

Jonas turns around and considers Apollon.  "Sometimes people are not understandable.  Sometimes they're just evil, and there's no reason for it."

Apollon shakes his head.  "Evil usually has it's reasons."  His eyes dart to me, "I mean, take Eden for example..."

"If I had a rabbit, I would whap you with it."

"I'm sure you would," he agrees, his face melting into a smile.

Jonas turns away and looks back out over the water.

Like that, our serious conversation is over—mostly because none of us want to continue thinking about it.  Apollon and I banter for a while, and Jack even joins in by laughing at us.  He sits back, holding his ankles, and listens, and laughs and laughs.  Life continues.  We float onward.  The bridge, the choppy water, and all the questions are behind us.

***

It would seem the warmer weather is not an anomaly.  I wear my coat at night, but by late mornings, I'm fine without it.  The landscape along the river is changing as well.  The trees are different.  There's green that is not pine.  One evening Apollon and Jonas sit together at the front of the raft, and I can hear their words drifting back.

"I don't know how much more south we can possibly go," Apollon says.  It sticks in my head.

"I'm guessing not all that far."  Jonas sounds uncertain.  "This world is big, but there's an end to it down there somewhere.  Eventually, we're going to hit ocean, aren't we?"

I glance at their backs.  Apollon is nodding.

I work on scraping the scales from our dinner, and consider.  What if we go all the way to the end of this river, and there's no city?  Is that Fate trying to tell me to leave it?  To give up?  Or do I continue... on land, I guess, in whatever direction we may go, and take the first city I find there?  Do I even believe in this invisible string that’s dangling me along?

I'm restless, now more than ever.  I want to do something, but I'm worried about the driving force behind it.  Why do I feel the need to do this thing?  Couldn't we really just be happy to build our own little camp somewhere and live, as Jonas would say, in freedom?

For long moments my thoughts wander back to Outpost Three.  To the people I would, in hindsight, call friends.  The people who fixed themselves to me by some invisible bond.  Would I know if they were dead?  Feel something?  Or would I just go on?  It seems so long now, and half a world away.  This river does not flow back the way we came.  Even if it did, it's a miracle that we made it through all those cities.  We'd have to try to go around them to get back to the Outpost.  Would we even be able to find the way?  Part of me is starting to come to terms with the fact that Outpost Three is lost—if not to the world, then at least to me.  But yes, most likely, to the world.  There's a sorrow deep inside at this thought, but far down and bottled up.  It's just something I can't hold onto anymore, yanked from my hand.  I feel like I'm watching it fly away, too.  There are so many things that we can't hold on to.

Grief swells inside me, like it might rise up.  I allow myself to feel it briefly.  I look out on the water, where the sun is reflecting, and I think of Oscar.  For one tangible instant I feel like we are together—like I have transcended space and time, and I am where he is, or he is here with me, or we are together somewhere where we once were.  All these things—the river and trees, the cities, the Sentries—they are just things, but we are what's real.  The things evaporate, and the barriers between us are nothing more than ghosts.

I stumble out of my ponderings when I've completed skinning and gutting the fish.  But I'm still feeling torn.  I feel duty-bound to try to save the Outpost, even though it is almost certainly too late.  Whatever strange force is inside me, it still compels me toward that course of action.  But entering a city again is not a smart idea, and will endanger all of us.  George flashes through my mind, a warning.  If I was smart—if I thought about this logically—I would want to avoid the cities altogether.  Consider the lives of my friends.  Care for, protect, what I have.  The guilt that comes along with that idea is hard to bear.  I find myself digging through my pack, finding my otter ring.  I slip it onto my index finger and fiddle with it for a while.  I feel like part of me is trying to apologize for the things that have happened, or that will.

My fingers caress the ring, and I'm still deep in thought as I roast the fish quietly.  We sit around our raft fire and eat in silence.  Darkness is quickly descending around us.  I consider again and again, staring into the flames.  Night on the river feels like a different kind of place—one that magnifies meaning, demands deep answers to every question.  The sounds of water and fire mingle, waves lapping, the pop of the logs.  It's peaceful.  We could go on like this forever.  We could be happy.

For the first time, I think I'm certain.  In my mind I'm forming words, figuring out how to explain my change of heart.  I toss the bone portion of my dinner over the edge of the raft, lick my fingers clean, then turn back to my friends.

"The box," says Jack softly.  "It's all a box."

I frown at him, but Apollon and Jonas stand up and follow Jack's gaze ahead of us.

"Holy hell," says Apollon.

Jonas curses softly.

I look where they're looking.  It's a long way off still, but as we come around a bend in the river, the distance is revealed to us.  That's a city if I've ever seen one, glowing like it's on fire.

Jonas glances back at me now.  His voice is always soft, but it rings through the night.  "You're up, Eden."

Chapter 32: Ghost of Christmas Past

The city looms ahead of us, a massive glow on both sides of the river.

"Does it cross the river?" Jonas is asking, sounding urgent.

Apollon is at his shoulder.  "Maybe we should make land and walk the rest of the way."

"How do we get in without being noticed, though?"  Jonas is shaking his head.

The lights are growing closer even as they speak.

"Jack."  I grab a cup and start scooping water from the side of the raft, throwing it onto the fire.  Jack grabs another cup and helps.

The boys look back at us.  "Good idea," Apollon says, but they're too busy strategizing to join in.

The fire hisses every time we dump a cup of water on it.  Smoke pours into the clear night air.  The noise covers most of the conversation.  I almost have the fire out, when, in between hisses, I hear the lowest, softest "Oh shit."

Everyone seems to freeze at once.  I barely breathe, though I don't know what's wrong.  My eyes go to Apollon and Jonas, and they too are absolutely frozen.  They're looking toward the eastern bank.  I squint into the darkness, trying to see.  There's nothing at first.  Then, just a glint.

I choke in a breath, unable to stop myself.  Now that I've seen it, it seems plain.  The Sentry stalks along the river bank, tracking our course.

It's a good deal away, but that means nothing.

"Can it cross the river?" I whisper, barely daring to let the noise out.

Now Apollon unfreezes and looks at me.  Every muscle in my body clamps down in protest of his movement.  "It's already seen us," he says, and he's not trying to be particularly quiet.  "So no.  It can't.  Or we'd already be done for."

Jonas looks mildly startled, but he manages to start moving and speaking again, too.  "Makes sense.  What the hell do we do now?"

"Opposite bank," I say.  "Come on."  I grab an oar and start steering toward the western bank.

All of us are on oars, guiding the raft toward the western side of the river.  We're almost to that side, when the second metallic shape appears in our would-be escape route.  It's close.  Maybe twenty yards.  When I see it, I shriek, stepping back, before I can stop myself.

Jonas, behind me, catches me and holds on for just a second.  Maybe a second too long.  "We'll keep going.  We're OK.  We'll just keep going."  He releases me and moves away.

I nod, trying to catch hold of my breath, control my fear.  We steer back toward the center of the river.  There are barrier posts straight across the water.  We float into the perimeter of the city whether we like it or not.  Buildings loom up around us on both sides, behemoths reaching skyward.  They're crumbling, and crawling with people.  Fires are scattered across the cityscape.  The stench of humanity accosts us.  Trash floats in the river, collects on its edges.  Something passes us, bobbing on the water's surface.  I think it's a stick, but turns out it's a leg.

"We just keep going," Apollon says, repeating Jonas' words as though he's reassuring himself.  His face is full of fear and disgust.

I repeat the words in my head, too, until it becomes clear that there is no way we are going to follow them.

There's something in the river.  Something big.  As our raft heads toward it, I try to figure out what it is and if there is any way around it.  It's a long, huge block slung haphazardly across the river.  Slanted, half-submerged.  It's breaking up—the water is clearly finding a way to move through it—but there is no way the raft is going to do that.

"A whole freaking building!" Apollon exclaims in disbelief.  He looks truly scared now.  It's not just one building, though.  It's more like a whole section of city that has toppled into the river.

The Sentries are still pacing both sides of us.  On the west bank, there are two now.

"What do we do?  How do we do this?"  The rapid rate of my words reveals my panic.

Jonas' hand squeezes my upper arm, but his eyes are flying all over the place, assessing the situation.

Our raft is on a collision course with the collapsed buildings.  We all start backpedaling.

There is an explosion—a gunshot—and something whizzes by my head.  I scream a curse, dropping my oar.

An engine revs across the water.  I whirl and see a motorboat speeding toward us.  There are a handful of men standing on it, aiming guns in our direction.  They let loose a burst of automatic fire.

“Pirates!” Apollon cries incredulously as all of us ditch into the water.  There is nothing else to do.  Bullets spray the river's surface.  But I'm down.  I'm already going under.

I flail, clawing as the water drags me along.  Darkness.  I don't know which way is up or down, but I'm fighting to get somewhere.  Sheer panic.  I'm tumbling, and I know I'm dead.  The water runs in shreds between my fingers, sucking me down to the place where everything is black.

Something snaps in me.  Instinct, maybe, or something else.  I stop fighting.  The water around my body makes sense.  My fingers are together.  My legs know what to do.  But I relax, feel the way the river is pulling me, and let it take me.  I tuck into a ball, hugging my knees in close.

My lungs are beyond the point of bursting.  I need air.  It feels like a million years, but suddenly my body breaks the surface.  I only have time to put my face up and take one gulp of air.  I'm at the edge of a swift current, not far off the building.  This is the way the water has found to get through.  It grabs hold of me, and pulls me under at high speed.

I try to tuck inward as I see the building's face coming up underneath the water.  There's a hole ripped in the building that maybe started as a window.  I'm thrown toward it.  My shoulder bashes on the edge of slimy brick.  At least it's not my head, but it hurts like hell.  The current throws me through to the other side.  I manage to avoid injury as I pass through the opposite wall.  I'm out, on the other side of the building.  I curl up again, and I'm propelled toward the surface.  When I break through, I hear the boat's motor again, but I am on the opposite side of the building now.  The huge obstruction is shielding me.  I swim toward the eastern bank, amazed that I somehow know how to move myself through the water.  I crawl up onto a crumbling concrete embankment, sputtering, coughing.  My lungs ache.  I've swallowed a lot of water, but I'm OK.  I'm maybe a hundred yards down from the building.  I look back, searching for Jonas, for Apollon, for Jack.  My greatest fear is for them, not what will happen to me next.

Jack scares the hell out of me as he pops out of the water behind me, doggy-paddling for the concrete.  I reach out and grab his arm, haul him up.  He's shaking, stiff, wide-eyed, but he'll be OK, too.

"Jonas," I say through a ragged breath.  "Apollon."

That's when the rapid gunshots start again.

On the top of the collapsed building, Jonas and Apollon are making a run for it.  A spray of bullets follows hot on their heels as they bound across the building.  Bricks and broken glass give way beneath their feet as they run, but somehow they stay up and stay going.  They haul toward the eastern bank.

"Come on," I say to Jack, climbing up the concrete to run to meet them.  But we're only just up onto the bank when I see the biggest of our problems.  Jonas and Apollon tear off into the slew of buildings, running like hell is on their tail.  And it is.  A Sentry is after them.

There is no thought in me now, no logic or planning.  Only fear.  I run for all I'm worth toward the spot where my friends disappeared into the city.  The Sentry is there before me, and I run in after it.

The buildings are thick here, the streets narrow, full of filth and stench.  Everything rises a mile above me, towering, making me feel so small.  I sprint through the streets, following the Sentry.  Far ahead, I see Jonas and Apollon fleeing.  Apollon trips on the uneven pavement.  The Sentry is right there.  Apollon flips around, scrambling back on his hands.  Jonas skids to a halt beyond him.  The fear I felt before is nothing.  This is an explosion inside me.  Flashes of Oscar's little feet, dangling in a Sentry's grip, flutter through my mind.  I can't really see through the panic.  I reach down and scoop up the first thing I find—a bottle.  I hurl it at the Sentry's back.

The glass shatters on the frame of the metal monster.  It's silver claw, reaching for Apollon, pauses.  I grab something else.  A can this time.  I fling it at the Sentry.  It makes a pitiful 'dink', skipping off the machine's plating and onto the pavement.  The sound of rattling metal fills the night as the can comes to a rest on the ground.  The Sentry's head whips toward me.  Its body follows.

I start running.  I know I will never escape it, but I will damned sure lead it as far away from Apollon and Jonas as I can before it gets me.  I propel myself forward, my steps becoming leaps and bounds.  I fling myself off a corner of a building and take a sharp turn.  Run down an alley.  Faster.  Run harder.  I can't breathe, but it doesn't matter.  Another turn.  Another.  The steps are behind me.  I hit a narrow alleyway.  Something sharp catches at my back.  My shirt pulls, choking me.  I fall to the ground.  Like Apollon, I whirl onto my back, scrambling on my hands.  I gape up at the machine that will be my end.

Its face scans my face.  Its hand, reaching for me, stops.

I blink up at it.

It reaches for me again.  An inch or two forward, stops.  Starts again.  Stops.

My mouth is open.  I'm completely frozen.

The machine moves and stops, moves and stops.  Is it glitching?  There seems to be some inward battle.  Some confusion.  Then, all at once, its fingers curl into a fist—all but one.  That one thrusts forward, pointing beyond me.  The way it does it is like a drunk—a staggering movement.  Or maybe like someone who is very, very old.  Either way, the message is clear:  Go.

My confusion breaks.  I scramble up and sprint for the end of the alley, not looking back.  Behind me, I can hear the false start and stop of the machine, a battle waged inside its processors.  I need to be gone before it comes to terms with itself.

I come flying around a corner and collide with Apollon.  He spins me back.  Jonas is beside him.  No sign of Jack.  There are so many questions, and so much terror written in their eyes.

"Run," is all I can say right now.  They follow my lead and we tear off into the night, taking every twist and turn to get lost in this mess of city.  I bulldoze through beggars and step on a dog.  My friends are right behind me.  We run for all we are worth.  When I think I can't run anymore I slow to a stop in the middle of the street, breathing hard.  Jonas and Apollon stop and walk back to me.

Hands on my knees, panting, I close my eyes.  My head is pulsing with the shock of fear chemicals—with the inward trauma that follows self-preservation.  I manage to calm my breathing, but I can't stop shaking.  I'm trembling so hard I feel like I need to sit down.  Limbs weak.  Gut churning, threatening to reject dinner.  I’m dripping wet, cold, and still scared stiff by the possibility that the Sentry is hunting us.

"I think we're OK," Jonas whispers, taking me by the arm.  “But let’s get out of the street.”  His fingers are so cold, water dripping from his hair.  I straighten up to walk with him.

"What the hell just happened?" Apollon asks at my other side.  “The Sentry…?”

Matt, I think.  I’m certain of it, even.  But I say, "Miranda.  That Sentry had me, but it stopped.  Like someone was fighting with it inside.  They're still alive, and Jacob has made it back to them.  Miranda's figured out some way to help us."  I hesitate, then I say what I can't help thinking.  "I had the feeling that someone was seeing me."  It sounds preposterous.  I'm almost embarrassed by my words.  But I mean them, none the less.

My friends have stopped walking.  They are silent for a long moment.

"I don't suppose there's any other explanation," Jonas finally murmurs.

"Holy hell," Apollon says.

Holy hell is right.  Matt’s alive.  They’re all alive.  Now we need to get to the tower and make sure they stay that way.  We also need to find Jack.  Get dry.  There are so many things we need to do.

Before we can do any of them, the men with the guns arrive.

Chapter 33: The One

They’re around us in a heartbeat, guns aimed at our heads.  There’s only six of them, but we’re severely out-armed and they have the element of surprise.  Two of them have large, automatic rifles slung against their hips.  The other four have pistols.  I’m staring down the barrel of one.

The man behind the gun nods at Apollon and Jonas as he steps toward me.  “Kill them,” he says.  “I think I’ll keep this one.”

I have my hands up in front of me.  No time to go for my knife without being shot.  But the other men are shouting at Jonas and Apollon, encircling them and herding them toward an alley.  They can’t die.  I can’t let them die.  I won’t.

But before I can draw my knife, a little flicker of movement catches my eye.  I watch in awe as Jack materializes out of the shadows down the street.  He reaches into his pocket and pulls out…

The nut bounces off the gunman’s skull.  He winces, flinches.  I draw my knife and drive it into his gut as Jack comes flying down the street with a fierce cry, and pounces on his back.

I retract my knife spin, flinging it at one of the men with the rifles.  It sticks in the back of his neck.  He goes down.

Apollon twists and yanks a rifle away from another gunman, rams the barrel into one of the pistol-carriers, and fires a burst.  The man stumbles backward, blood erupting out his back.   Apollon’s elbow comes back into the face of the man he disarmed, crunching his nose into a bloody mess.  A slim knife plants itself in his chest.  Jonas has thrown two of them—one at him and one at another guy with a pistol.  He ducks under a bullet that I am sure is going to take him down, plucks my knife from the dead man, and slashes upward across the throat of the man who fired at him.  I’m running for the last guy, but he’s got his gun trained on me.  I dive for the pavement as he pulls the trigger.  Another burst joins the sound of his bullets.  I clamp my eyes shut, expecting to be shredded, but nothing.  I look up.  The man is flat on the pavement.  There’s just Apollon with his smoking gun, and Jonas, spattered with blood, looking at me wild-eyed.  He wipes my knife on his pants as he moves toward me.

I start to scrape myself up off the pavement, my hands and knees stinging.  I can hear Jack getting to his feet behind me, too.  Before I make it all the way up, before Jonas can reach me, there’s the sound of squealing tires.  A slew of vehicles slide to a stop, forming a perimeter around us.  The men pouring out of the vehicles are carrying plenty of guns, and there’s a whole lot more of them than what we just took out.  I look behind me, toward the corpse that Jack is climbing off of, looking for a weapon.

Guns trained on us, a group of vicious-looking men stalk forward while the others cover them from the perimeter.

Apollon drops the rifle and puts his hands up.  “Guys, let’s talk about this.  Yeah?”

They stop in front of us just as I finish climbing to my feet.  Once again, I’m staring down the barrel of a gun.

A muscular, dark-skinned man who looks far too relaxed for the chaos at hand says “Nobody does business in Baton Rouge without my say so.”  He glances at the pile of corpses around us.  “Looks like you’ve been doing some serious business.  Not OK.”

“No business,” Apollon says quickly as the men tense to fire.  “Just defending ourselves.  We were attacked.”

The man who spoke scans his eyes over us again, taking in our dripping clothing, the fact that there are only enough guns for the corpses.  I can see him putting the pieces together.

“Look,” Apollon is saying, “we’re just travelling through.  We’ve got one stop to make—just popping in to the white tower to meet some friends—and we’re on our way out, fast.  If you could point us—”

One of the men from the perimeter calls, “Twenty seconds, boss!”

The dark-skinned man’s eyes are narrowed, scanning between us.  They freeze on me.  “Take them,” he says, making a gesture.  I clamp my eyes in reflex, yet again expecting bullets to pierce my flesh, but the guys with the guns herd us quickly toward one of the vehicles, only using their weapons to prod us along.  We stumble forward and get into some sort of armored truck that is big enough to hold all of us, the boss, and four of the guys with guns.  They slam the hatch shut and the truck squeals, tires spinning as we blast into motion.

Jonas, next to me, surreptitiously presses my knife into my hand, giving me a sideways look.  Get ready.  I glance around at the serious faces surrounding us.  From the front of the truck, there are shouts.  We swerve suddenly to the left, skidding, and I’m thrown into the metal door.  Cussing, wiping at my cheek to check for blood, I try to right myself. The boss is just staring at me, eyeing my knife.  Truly unnerving.  From outside, metal clangs against the truck, then a blast of gunfire and an explosion.

“Got it,” someone shouts from up front.  “Eat shit, robot!”  I go pale.  Sentries.

We swerve again and again.  I put my knife away in my sheath because, at this rate, I’m going to stab someone—likely myself.  The motor roars.  I hang on for dear life, but I’m thrown from side to side along with everyone else.  I think I’m going to be sick if it doesn’t stop soon.  Just when I’m sure I can’t take it anymore, we straighten out, the engine revs, and we kick into a massive burst of speed.  I exchange glances with Jonas and Apollon.  Jack is clinging to the floor of the truck, frozen and wide-eyed.  Where are these guys taking us?  Should we risk fighting them now, at high speed, or should we wait until we’ve stopped… when there will likely be more.  I think back to the virtual army that surrounded us only moments ago.  Then I remember the Amazons.  Now.  It has to be now.

I meet Jonas’ gaze, my own made of iron.  I’m reaching for my belt when we come screeching to a stop.  Thrown to the side, tumbling.  Jonas helps scoop me up, his grip tense, communicating the need to fight.  Even as I right myself, I reach for my knife.

But the men have thrown open the door, and their guns are pushing my friends out.  The boss has a pistol in my face.  “Out.”

I can only obey.  I back out of the hatch, eyeing the gun barrel as I go.  Jonas catches me as I stumble down out the door, keeping me from falling.  I get my balance and risk a glance to the side.

We’re in the middle of the city, buildings and streets rising all around us.  If there’s an army here, I don’t see it.  The men with the guns are already climbing back into the truck.

The boss reads the confusion on my face.  As he backs away from me, gun still aiming at my head, he says, “You tell them TC brought you.  They owe me one.  Remember this.”  Then he’s in the truck, the hatch slams, and they are gone, a cloud of dust and debris billowing behind them.

“What the fuck?” Apollon whispers.

“What the fuck?” echoes Jack.  “What the fuck?  What the fuck?  What the fuck?”

I’m shaking, just shaking.  I couldn’t have said it better.  I take some deep, shuddering breaths and look around.

We’re between a close mess of buildings—some little more than shacks and some massive skyscrapers.  Behind us, steps and an arch.  I look up.

"Holy hell," says Apollon, seeing what I see at the same time.

Before Jack can repeat Apollon’s words, I’m running inside the white tower.  Jonas is right on my heels.

It's pitch black inside, so it takes a moment for my eyes to adjust.  There's light coming from somewhere above, though.  My eyes are drawn to the source of the light.  Above us, the building goes up and up, an open middle reaching up to a peak.  That's where the light is coming from—way at the top.  It flickers, warm and inviting—probably an oil lamp.  My eyes scan back down the walls, where stairs wrap around, level upon level.  Suddenly I’m frightened of going any further.

I feel Jonas, right behind me.  "This is the one," I whisper.

He nods.  I sense the movement more than see it.  I look back at him now and can just make out his face in the darkness.  He swallows.

Behind him, Jack and Apollon are looking up at the light.  After a moment, Apollon’s eyes move down and rest on me.  “Shall we see if there are any more nuts?”

Jack nods eagerly.  “Nuts,” he whispers.  His voice flits around the chamber like a ghost.

Jonas and I exchange looks.  I find the bottom of the stairs in the darkness, and start walking up them.  My friends trail behind me.  I take each step slowly, carefully.  All the time, I'm looking up.  My hand slides along the smooth stone railing.  There are levels and levels of stairs.  I'm filled with urgency to find their end, but torn between that and a longing to hold onto what I am right now.  My feet keep an even pace, sensing the weight of every step toward the end of this journey.  So this is where Fate chooses to spit us out.  After everything—if I believe anything—I cannot argue that this tower—this is it.

***

At the top of the steps, there is a murmur of voices.  They break off as our footsteps approach.  There's a rustle of movement.  I make the top platform and step into the lantern's light.  It's a small, round room, washed in cream paint.  There's a door on the opposite side.  Between me and that door is a roomful of people.  All of them stare at me in silence.

The moment is heavy.  I know the look in their eyes now—the recognition.  One of them—a woman—steps forward and tries to speak, but falters.  She can't seem to get the words out.

I smile.  "Let me guess.  I shouldn't be afraid.  I've found what I'm looking for."

A nervous look flies around the room from one face to another, some with smiles or half-smiles, some with wide eyes.  They all seem to be unable to speak, or move, or act.  I know how they feel.

Finally, the woman chokes out, in little more than a whisper, "Spec."  The boy next to her flies through the door on the opposite side of the room.  His footsteps are the only sound, pounding up what must be more stairs, just like the tower in Damoynz.  Behind me is the slight rustle of Apollon and Jonas shifting on the landing.  They're still hanging back in the shadows, and Jack is on the steps below them.  I hear him cough once, probably still bringing up river water.

I let my eyes scan the people in the room—there's at least fifteen of them, maybe twenty.  Mostly men, two women.  One of the girls is a teen, and some of the boys are, too.  But most of the men are at least in their twenties, and they all look fierce.  They're armed, full of muscles.  But I'm not afraid.  No one moves or speaks.  They're frozen by surprise, and beyond that, we're clearly waiting for something.  In only seconds, it arrives.

There is the sound of feet running down the stairs, heavy, taking them two or three at a time.  A male voice, strangled, full of fear and hope.  "Lily?" it calls, before its owner makes it through the doorway.  There is a desperate quality embedded in the tone.  "Lily?"

Behind me, very quietly, Apollon's voice:  "...What?"

The owner of the footsteps bursts through the opposite door and stops abruptly on the threshold, his eyes wide and searching.  He's blonde—whiter blonde than Apollon—tall and muscular, probably my age.  His eyes are the lightest of blue, and shiny with unshed tears.  He sees me.  Shock runs through his whole body.

That's when the movement comes from behind me—my friends are not comfortable with this turn of events.  The man looks past me, at them, and his face drains of color.  I'm afraid, for an instant, that he's going to pass out.  He steps forward suddenly and brushes by me as if I don't exist.  The look on his face is the strangest mixture of awe, joy, disbelief, and pain.  There's something else in that mix, too.  Something out of place.  Disappointment?

"Jason," he whispers.  He throws his arms around Jonas, embracing him, holding on to him.  If there was any hesitancy to this reunion, it has fled.

Jonas tentatively returns the embrace.  He's as shocked as I am, but he goes with it.

The man eventually steps back, holding the sides of Jonas' face.  They look into each other's eyes.  The man wears a broad smile and sadness.  He laughs.  There is a tear on his cheek.  He's wading through rapture and grief.

Movement behind them brings my attention to Apollon, who is staring at them, at me, at them, open-mouthed.  His face is written with confusion.  With questions and uncertainty.  I have a lot to explain to him, and no chance to do it.  The best I can offer is a regretful glance.  He looks stricken.

The newcomer takes Jonas' hand in his, and, turning back to the others, raises it high above their heads.  "Jason."  Only now do his eyes flick to me.  Briefly.  Uncertainly.

"Jason," the others murmur, at first clearly stunned.  They say it again.  "Jason."  In an instant it grows into a chant.  "Ja-son.  Ja-son.  Ja-son."

Then somehow, my name is in the mix.  It's "Jason.  Lily.  Jason.  Lily."  We're being pushed together.  Someone places my hand in his.

Jonas takes all this in stride, only giving me the briefest glance of uncertainty.  He raises our hands over our heads, smiling, meeting all their eyes.  The room is full of people who are entwined in our presence.  Their chant grows in strength and enthusiasm, broken only by cheering.  Then cheering becomes celebration.  They fall on us with the warmest of greetings.  And just like that, it would seem we're king and queen of the world.

I am probably the only one who notices Jonas catching Apollon's gaze from across the room, and certainly the only one who understands enough to interpret his look as apologetic.  Apollon just looks away.  He looks like he's going to be sick.

Chapter 34: Specter

We're given dry clothes, and food, and drink.  Everything any of us could need right now.  We're checked over for wounds.  Someone cleans my hands and knees, and puts a cold rag on my shoulder.  A warm blanket around my back.  Whatever we've lost, it doesn't matter.  We'll go home soon.  Everything will make sense in time, they promise.  Only, I get the feeling they’re almost as lost as we are.

Jonas plays along with all of this, but I can tell he doesn't trust them.  I'm not sure why he doesn't, because they seem to love us.  But I see the way he's watching behind each smile.  He doesn't offer much information.  Just banter.  Goes with the flow, rather than asking questions.  He keeps me close to his side.  I keep hoping for an explanation— for somebody to sit down and tell me what’s going on.  But our hosts are too full of merriment to be of any use.

"I can't believe it's you.  I can't believe it's really you," gushes an ogre of a man for probably the fiftieth time, shaking his head, grinning from ear to ear.  His eyes are fixed on Jonas in adoration.  It makes my brain hurt, trying to figure out what all of this is about.  They're passing around a bottle of something, and I'm thinking I could use a little of it about now.  I look again for Apollon and Jack, and find they are still sitting against one wall.  Some of the teens have them surrounded and are chattering at them incessantly.  Jack is listening, but Apollon looks like he's somewhere else entirely.

It hits me that there's too much noise and not enough answers.  I feel caught up.  I just want one person who can tell me the things I've been wanting to know.  I glance at Jonas next to me.  He's telling a joke and his audience is rapt with attention.  They hardly notice me slipping away.

I walk through the crowd, looking for someone on their own.  Someone who I can have a conversation with.  But everyone is chattering.  Laughing. They really are swept up in this moment.  Everyone.  Except the person who is missing.

The door is ajar.  I slip through, to the stairs that go up.  They twist around as they go, the spiral getting narrower and narrower toward the top.  I step up into a tiny room with four open doorways.  Outside them is a balcony that wraps all the way around.  Standing sideways at the railing is the person I'm looking for.

He looks back at me, and does not seem surprised.  His face is blank.  "Hello," he says quietly.

I walk out onto the balcony and look over the railing.  We're at the very top of the tower.  I can see the city falling away, the fires reflecting in the river.  Even more beyond.  For a moment, the view has me speechless.  Another glimpse of how vast the world is.  Finally, I look at him.  "Hi.  Sorry.  I didn't catch your name?"

A smile tugs briefly at the corners of his mouth and disappears.  "Spec."  He's hiding sadness.

"Spec," I say.  "That's right."  That's what the woman said to the boy.  I want to ask more right away, but the questions do not come out as easily as I had planned.  For the first time, I begin to understand that the things I have lost have also been lost to someone else.  I search his face, not sure if I should ask anything at all.

He sighs suddenly and turns toward the city, leaning his forearms on the railing.  "I should have known."  His eyes flick sideways to me, and there is something in them, now.  Something that sees through me.  "Sentries," he says.  "Changing the world.  You knew how to motivate everyone.  How to get it done.  Of course you did."  His eyes fall on the buildings again, on the flicker of lamplight and bonfire.  "But it was never about that."  His voice has gone soft now.  I have to strain to hear him.  "…You could have told me."

My face contorts with puzzlement.  I want to ask what he means, but I'm already off balance.  He has the high ground here.  He knows what we're talking about.

He glances at me again, and I can see him stop and realize that I'm lost.  Something in his countenance softens.  "Jason," he explains.  There's a paradox of patience and impatience in his voice.  "He was my best friend.  I loved him too.  You could have told me that this was all about bringing him back."

For a few seconds, I can't breathe.  My throat feels thick.  I swallow.  Then my eyelids are fluttering as I force myself to process, to try to understand.  To form words.  "J-Jason?"  My voice is trembling, filled with uncertainty.  Is this all about Jonas?  Is everything I have been through because of him?

Discomfort passes over Spec's face, like he's bothered by my unease.  His fingers twitch, but stay on the railing.  "It took us three years, Lil," he says, "to make your crazy plan work.  Do you have any idea how hard it was to watch you sacrifice yourself?  Maybe..." He looks down thoughtfully.  "Maybe I would have understood.  Maybe it would have been easier."  His eyebrows go up and he shakes his head at me, "Because, you know, as it was, I really wasn't sure it wasn't just your way out."

I take a deep breath and place my hands over my face, closing my eyes.  A million thoughts are swirling inside me, trying to get free.  Going after Jason.  Sacrificing myself.  Sentries....  Spec must understand the storm of processing that's going on inside me, because he remains quiet.  Finally, still muffled behind my hands, I manage, "So I... sacrificed myself to the Sentries.  Like what?  Just walked up and kicked one?"  I lower my hands to peek at him.

He laughs.  There's something familiar about his face when he laughs.  Something nice. "Something like that," he says.  "The plan required that you get close.  Really close.  We knew it would end in erasure.  And of course, you damned well wouldn't let anyone else do it—which makes sense now, by the way.  So there had to be a contingency.  We had to get you back."

I pause for a moment.  "The towers.  Is there someone at every single tower, everywhere?"

He nods.

"And you somehow made me want to get to them."

He shakes his head, now.  "I don't understand why it took so long.  You should have been compelled to go to the nearest tower... at least within a few days, Coder thought."

"I was in an Outpost," I blurt out.

His eyes widen.  "Not... really?  You were dropped there?"

I nod.

A breath escapes him, face turning away.  Now he's processing.

I give him a minute, then ask, "Who's Coder?"

A wry grin curls onto his face.  "The genius behind your madness."

I throw a crooked grin back at him.  "Great," I say.  "Just exactly what I need."

He tosses his head, his eyes darting skyward and back.  "Clearly not.”  But he's suddenly all seriousness.  "It's not the end," he says, meeting my eyes.  "It's just the beginning."

I don't miss the weight in his words.  The sense of danger.  There is a pause while that sinks in, then I ask, "What happens now?"

He considers, though I suspect he already knows the answer.  What he’s thinking about is how to explain it to me.  Finally, he leans his back against the railing, which makes me nervous to say the least, and says, "You might have been chasing after Jason.  But I'm guessing you did what you said you were going to do, too."

"...That being...?  Something about Sentries, right?"

"Something about Sentries," he repeats, studying me.

Part of me still feels Jonas' caution, but I think it’s residual and fading fast.  The part that is me, now, standing on this balcony with Spec, wants to trust him.  I cross my arms, raise one eyebrow.  "Let's just say there have been some very interesting things happening with Sentries, lately."

A smile lights his face and those pale, pale eyes.  "Well then," he says, pushing himself away from the railing, "I suppose the next thing to do is get you home to Coder, so he can harvest that information."  He pokes me in the skull with one finger as he moves past me.  I turn my face and watch him disappear down the stairs.  My mind, my emotions, are racing.

Too many thoughts.  Too many questions.  Sentries and danger and home.  My erasure—my loss of everything—was to bring Jonas back.  How is that even possible?  It doesn’t make sense—going after him.  What are the odds, in all the world, that I would be dropped anywhere near him?  Unless….  Unless I somehow used the Sentries to track him.  Found a way to make them drop me where he was last seen by one.  They’re always scanning us.  Of course they would know where he was.  It seems a little farfetched, but it makes a lot more sense than randomly being dropped right by Jason.

All this time, I thought Fate was pushing me along.  But I was wrong.  Not Fate.  Lily.

She was willing to give up who she was just for the vague possibility of finding him, being with him.  How much must she have loved him?  And where does that leave me?  Didn’t I just spend the last few months trying to convince myself that Jason and Lily are dead?  Even if they are, can I blatantly disregard the enormous sacrifice that Lily made?  Essentially, her last wish?  These questions could so easily overwhelm me.  Consume me.  But there is one other thought swirling on the surface of the river, a wild hope stirring within me: I did it.  I found Jonas and brought him back.  And if I did it for him, I can do it for Oscar.

The End

Book Three: Eden

Both friends and enemies are keen to get their hands on the information inside Eden’s head—information that could take down the Sentries and change the world. But there are costs that no one realized, and Eden’s not so sure she’s willing to pay them. Refusing to do so could create dangerous problems within the tribe she’s only just come back to.

Eden has her own agenda for learning Lily’s secrets. With hope refusing to die, she’s spurred forward by memories of Oscar and thoughts of finding him again. But Lily’s hold on her is greater than she knows, compelling her to chase after strange clues and confusing visions. With love and longing weighing on her, Eden must determine the reality of her fractured identity in order to decide which path to take. The choices she makes could tear her away from Jonas and Apollon, from everything she’s ever known.

Eden’s future will not be determined solely by choices. Fate has her own cards to play, and they just might take the game.

Acknowledgements

This time around is a whole new story.  When I published E, I had a small handful of people to thank.  Those same people still deserve a lot of credit and a lot of love.  But there are a lot more people added to the roll call this time.

Pol:  Husband, editor, BFF, love of my life….  At some point there is just nothing left that words can say that will do any kind of justice to the things that are beyond words, beyond understanding, beyond here and now and how and why and is that even possible?  All I can say is I wouldn’t be me without you.  This book wouldn’t be this book.  Everything would just be so much less.

To Jordan: so many thanks, so many hugs, and hey, “It’s CHRISTMAS!”  And yes, I like your hair (though I’m not sure I count).

Mom, thanks for everything.  For believing in me.  For always being the first one to jump in and help out.  For all the million things you do without ever expecting anything in return.

To Kae, for being my biggest fan and buying all my books, even though you can’t read yet and you don’t have any money.

Alicia:  I never expected all the help and support that you gave me.  You’re the best, and I’m deeply grateful for everything you’ve done.

Nicola, my author pal, fellow Rock the Book chick, and beta reader:  It’s been so fun to go on this journey together.  I always know you’re there to understand a bad day or celebrate a good one.  Many, many thanks.

Anka, grammar goddess and friend:  Thank you so much for your help, even though I set crazy, unreasonable deadlines.  I’m so glad our paths have crossed.  Hopefully, when we’re both old ladies, you’ll still be pointing out misplaced participles and I’ll be begrudgingly deleting excessive tagging (though you’d hope I would have learned by then).

Jane:  You’ve been a mentor and friend, as well as a fabulous beta reader.  You gave me so much excellent feedback.  (And it’s truly awesome being friends with one of my favorite authors!)  Thank you for everything.

To all the many, many bloggers who have featured E, tweeted, interviewed, blogged, YouTubed, and shared book recommendations, THANK YOU.  You are all absolute godsends to Indie authors like me who are just trying to get our books out there.  I appreciate every single one of you.  Special thanks to Rae and Laquesha, who have both gone above and beyond (and are just plain Awesome with a capital A).

And of course, for you.  Yes, you.  My readers have been amazing, and if anyone deserves thanks, it is definitely the people who have bitten the bullet and read a book that is admittedly unknown.  For all of you who have taken the time to write/post reviews, I am deeply grateful.  Reviews make a HUGE difference— more than you might realize.  But beyond that, I read every single review, and honestly there is hardly anything better than knowing that someone out there has connected with your work.  Every new review feels like (let’s say it again) CHRISTMAS!  On this subject, a special thanks to Michael aka. mrwolf, for being the first person to review “E, a book with a letter for a title and not one review”.  Made my day!

I wish I had time and space to list all the names of all the people who have made a difference.  Suffice it to say you are all in my thoughts.  I truly appreciate everyone who has been a big or small part of my book-writing journey, and I look forward to knowing all of you who will be part of it in the future!  J

Connect with Kate

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Also by Kate Wrath

E (E, #1)

Eden (E, #3) - June 13, 2015

Jason and Lily (E, prequel) - July 23, 2015