I think of the new wall, lit up by a spinning light, stained red with blood.
What if there are more of them? What if theyre coming for us?
I have a vision of Lena moving out there, sneaking through the streets, ducking between shadows, holding a knife. For a moment my lungs stop moving.
But no. She doesnt know I was the one who gave her and Alex away. No one knows.
Besides, she is probably dead.
And even if she isnteven if by some miracle, she survived the escape and has been squeezing out a living in the Wildsshe would never join forces with the resisters. She would never be violent or vengeful. Not Lena, who used to practically faint when she pricked a finger, who couldnt even lie to a teacher about being late. She wouldnt have the stomach for it.
Would she?
Lena
The planning goes late into the night. The sandy-haired man, whose name is Colin, remains sequestered in one of the trailers with Beast and Pippa, Raven and Tack, Max, Cap, my mother, and a few others he has handpicked from his group. He assigns a guard to watch the door; the meeting is invite-only. I know that something big is in the worksas big as, if not bigger than, the Incidents that blew part of a wall out of the Crypts and exploded a police station. From hints that Max has let slip, Ive gathered that this new rebellion is not simply confined to Portland. As in the earlier Incidents, in cities all across the country, sympathizers and Invalids are gathering and channeling their anger and their energy into displays of resistance.
At one point Max and Raven emerge from the trailer to pee in the woodstheir faces drawn and seriousbut when I beg Raven to let me join the meeting, she cuts me down immediately.
Go to bed, Lena, she says. Everythings under control.
It must be almost midnight; Julian has been asleep for hours. I cant imagine lying down right now. I feel like my blood is full of thousands of antsmy arms and legs are crawling, itching to move, to do something. I walk in circles, trying to shake the feeling, and fumingannoyed with Julian, furious with Raven, thinking of all the things Id like to say to her.
I was the one who got Julian out of the underground. I was the one who risked my life to sneak into New York City and save him. I was the one who got into Waterbury; I was the one who found out Lu was a fraud. And now Raven tells me to go to bed, like Im an unruly five-year-old.
I take aim at a tin cup that has been lying, half-buried in ash, at the edge of a burned-out campfire, and watch as it rockets twenty feet and pings off the side of a trailer. A man calls out, Take it easy! But I dont care if Ive woken him up. I dont care if I wake the whole damn camp up.
Cant sleep?
I spin around, startled. Coral is sitting a little ways behind me, knees hugged to her chest, next to the dying remains of another fire. Every so often she prods it halfheartedly with a stick.
Hey, I say cautiously. Since Alex left, she has gone almost completely mute. I didnt see you.
Her eyes go to mine. She smiles weakly. I cant sleep either.
Even though Im still antsy, it feels weird to be hovering above her, so I lower myself onto one of the smoke-blackened logs that ring the campfire. Are you worried about tomorrow?
Not really. She gives the fire another prod, watches as it flares momentarily. It doesnt matter for me, does it?
What do you mean? I look at her closely for the first time in a week; Ive been unconsciously avoiding her. There is something tragic and hollow about her now: Her cream-pale skin looks like a huskempty, sucked dry.
She shrugs and keeps her eyes on the embers. I mean that I have no one left.
I swallow. Ive been meaning to speak to her about Alex, to apologize in some way, but the words never quite come. Even now they grow and stick in my throat. Listen, Coral. I take a deep breath. Say it. Just say it. Im really sorry that Alex left. I knowI know it must have been hard for you.
There it is: the spoken admission that he was hers to lose. As soon as the words leave my mouth, I feel weirdly deflated, as though theyve been swollen, balloonlike, in my chest this whole time.
For the first time since I sat down, she looks at me. I cant read the expression on her face. Thats okay, she says at last, returning her gaze to the fire. He was still in love with you, anyway.
Its as though shes reached out and punched me in the stomach. All of a sudden, I cant breathe. Whatwhat are you talking about?
Her mouth crooks up into a smile. He was. It was obvious. Thats okay. He liked me and I liked him. She shakes her head. I didnt mean Alex, anyway, when I said I had no one left. I meant Nan, and the rest of the group. My people. She throws down the stick and hugs her knees tighter to her chest. Weird how its just hitting me now, huh?
Even though Im still stunned by what she has just said, I manage to keep control of myself. I reach out and touch her elbow. Hey, I say. You have us. Were your people now.
Thanks. Her eyes flick to mine again. She forces a smile. She tilts her head and stares at me critically for a minute. I can see why he loved you.
Coral, youre wrong I start to say.
But just then theres a footfall behind us, and my mother says, I thought you went to sleep hours ago.
Coral stands up, dusting off the back of her jeansa nervous gesture, since we are all covered in dirt, caked grime that has found its way from our eyelashes to our fingernails. I was just going, she says. Good night, Lena. And . . . thanks.
Before I can respond, she spins around and heads off toward the southern end of the clearing, where most of our group is clustered.
She seems like a sweet girl, my mother says, easing herself down onto the log Coral has vacated. Too sweet for the Wilds.
Shes been here almost her whole life. I cant keep the edge from my voice. And shes a great fighter.
My mother stares at me. Is something wrong?
Whats wrong is that I dont like being kept in the dark. I want to know what the plan is tomorrow. My heart is going hard. I know Im not being fair to my motherit isnt her fault I wasnt allowed in to planbut I feel like I could scream. Corals words have shaken something loose inside me, and I can feel it rattling around in my chest, knifing against my lungs. He was still in love with you.
No. Its impossible; she got it all wrong. He never loved me. He told me so.
My mothers face turns serious. Lena, you have to promise me that youll stay here, at the camp, tomorrow. You have to promise me you wont fight.
Now its my turn to stare. What?
She rakes a hand through her hair, making it look as though it has been styled with an electric current. Nobody knows exactly what we can expect inside that wall. The security forces are estimates, and were not sure how much support our friends in Portland have drummed up. I was urging a delay, but I was overruled. She shakes her head. Its dangerous, Lena. I dont want you to be a part of it.
The rattling piece in my chestthe anger and sadness over losing Alex, and also, more than that, even, over this life that we string together from scraps and tatters and half-spoken words and promises that are not fulfilledexplodes suddenly.
You still dont get it, do you? I am practically shaking. Im not a child anymore. I grew up. I grew up without you. And you cant tell me what to do.
I half expect her to snap back at me, but she just sighs and stares at the smoldering orange glow still embedded in the ash, like a buried sunset. Then she says abruptly, Do you remember the Story of Solomon?
Her words are so unexpected that for a moment, I cant speak. I can only nod.
Tell me, she says. Tell me what you remember.
Alexs note, still tucked into the pouch around my neck, seems to be smoldering too, burning against my chest. Two mothers are fighting over a child, I say cautiously. They decide to cut the baby in half. The king decrees it.
My mother shakes her head. No. Thats the revised version; thats the story in The Book of Shhh. In the real story, the mothers dont cut the baby in half.
I go very still, almost afraid to breathe. I feel as though Im teetering on a precipice, on the verge of understanding, and Im not yet sure if I want to go over.
My mother goes on, In the real story, King Solomon decides that the baby should be cut in half. But its only a test. One mother agrees; the other woman says that shell give up claim to the baby altogether. She doesnt want the child injured. My mother turns her eyes to me. Even in the dark, I can see their sparkle, the clarity that has never gone away. Thats how the king identifies the real mother. Shes willing to sacrifice her claim, sacrifice her happiness, to keep the baby safe.
I close my eyes and see embers burning behind my lids: blood-red dawn, smoke and fire, Alex behind the ash. All of a sudden, I know. I understand the meaning of his note.
Im not trying to control you, Lena, my mother says, her voice low. I just want you to be safe. Thats what Ive always wanted.
I open my eyes. The memory of Alex standing behind the fence as a black swarm enfolded him, recedes. Its too late. My voice sounds hollow, and not like my own. Ive seen things . . . Ive lost things you cant understand.
Its the closest Ive come to speaking about Alex. Thankfully, she doesnt pry. She just nods.
Im tired. I push myself to my feet. My body, too, feels unfamiliar, as though Im a puppet that has begun to come apart at the seams. Alex sacrificed himself once so that I could live and be happy. Now he has done it again.
Ive been so stupid. And he is gone; there is no way for me to reach him and tell him I know and understand.
There is no way for me to tell him that I am still in love with him, too.
Im going to get some sleep, I tell her, avoiding her eyes.
I think thats a good idea, she says.
Ive already started to move away from her when she calls out to me. I turn around. The fire has now burned out completely, and her face is swallowed in darkness.
We make for the wall at dawn, she says.
Hana
I cant sleep.
Tomorrow I will no longer be myself. I will walk down the white carpet, and stand under the white canopy, and pronounce vows of loyalty and purpose. Afterward, white petals will rain down on me, scattered by the priests, by the guests, by my parents.
I will be reborn: blank, clean, featureless, like the world after a blizzard.