by Susan Kim
Dedication
To my parents, who—among other things—gave me lots of books
—Susan
To Mina Gruber, who put up with me in childhood
—Laurence
Contents
Dedication
Part One
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Part Two
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Part Three
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-one
About the Authors
Credits
Copyright
About the Publisher
PART ONE
One
A RAVAGED STREET RAN THROUGH WHAT WAS ONCE A BUSTLING SUBURB. There were no signs of life; even the treetops were motionless, etched in black ink against a dirty-yellow winter sky.
A flicker of movement broke the stillness.
It came from a hedge by the side of the road, overgrown and dying, its tangled branches spilling onto the sidewalk. The foliage trembled again, and a moment later a girl in battered sunglasses and a torn red hoodie emerged from its depths. She wore a leather quiver across her thin chest and a fiberglass bow dangled from her hand.
It was a January morning and so the air was relatively cool. Even so, Esther’s throat was parched and she could feel sweat trickling down her back. She had been tracking her prey for nearly two hours, and it was painstaking work. This kind of patience, careful and focused, had never been her strength. She preferred action, and as unskilled as she was at killing, she was tempted to rush forward now and attempt an attack. Yet there was too much at stake to fail, so she forced herself to remain still.
Her target was across the street. It was a large animal, shaggy with gray, bristled hair, a feral pig that was making its way past the abandoned houses that lined the street, grunting as it rummaged for food.
This was a rash choice, the girl knew. Even to an experienced hunter, a pig was formidable prey, surprisingly fast for its size and dangerous when cornered. But such a beast could feed her family and friends well for weeks. And what Esther lacked in hunting skill, she could make up for in stealth.
Or at least she hoped.
Moving noiselessly in her shredded sneakers and staying upwind so the animal wouldn’t catch her scent, Esther managed to keep distant pace as the pig continued to root its way through the trash that spilled from open doorways and abandoned cars. She only moved when the animal was distracted, when it paused to nose through the sections of broken pavement that exposed tree roots and red clay. At such moments, she tried to imitate one of the many cats owned by her friend Joseph: moving in tiny yet swift increments, freezing after each time.
Even so, it seemed impossible to get close enough to draw an accurate bead on her target, much less get off a good shot. Esther had only three precious arrows with her, spindly feathered shafts that were so weightless, she had to keep checking her quiver to make certain they were still there. She would likely need all three to finish the job, and that was only if she was lucky enough to immobilize the animal with her first shot. And arrows were growing rarer by the day.
As if it could hear her thoughts, the pig now raised its head and Esther again froze. She could see its tufted ears twitching as it gazed around. Its obsidian eyes seemed to slide over her, unseeing. Then, with a grunt, the creature turned and ambled past the overgrown yard and into the woods that lay behind the house.
Across the street, Esther swore under her breath.
But there was perhaps still hope. The pig was trotting, not galloping. That meant it wasn’t frightened; clearly, it hadn’t seen her. Gritting her teeth, Esther took off across the street in pursuit.
The small forest was carpeted with dead leaves and household trash, piles of moldering clothes, and filthy and broken bits of furniture and plastic. It was as if the garbage had leaked out of the house it surrounded, like putrescence oozing from a dead thing. In addition, the woods were choked with vines and fallen branches, making it difficult to navigate.
Still, it wasn’t hard to guess where the pig was headed. Esther could hear the steady sounds of its progress in the distance: twigs snapping, leaves swishing. Feeling reckless, she put on speed; and it was a pleasure to move swiftly, to hurdle dead trees and push past branches that whipped her face. Then she stopped short.
To her surprise, she found she was much closer to the animal than she had thought; it was no more than a few body lengths in front of her, partly hidden by a mound of leaves. It had its head down and appeared to be rooting, too immersed in whatever it had found to notice her, to even look up.
Inwardly rejoicing, Esther forced herself to slow down as she approached the leaf pile from behind a tree. To lose this advantage due to overeagerness would be terrible indeed. Barely daring to breathe, she drew even closer, and the pig had still not moved away.
She was almost upon it.
Esther took an arrow from her quiver and fit it to the bow. Then, in one swift movement, she raised the weapon to her shoulder as she pulled the bowstring back past her cheek and stepped around the tree, aiming downward.
The pig did not see her. Its head was turned away, butting something with its snout as it made a soft sound that was half grunt, half chuckle. Beneath it, nuzzling its underbelly, was a smaller version of itself, faint stripes visible on its still-soft fur.
The pig was a female, a mother nursing her child. And even as Esther took aim at the animal’s heart, so close she swore she could see it beating beneath the shaggy pelt, she was shocked to find herself trembling, her aim wavering.
She hesitated, confused. Then she steeled herself, trying to shake off the feeling. But it was no good.
Esther had no false sentimentality about the wild animals that roamed the streets of Prin. And she needed no reminder of the urgency of her situation. Until recently, it had been disease that everyone feared. The illness, carried in water, was both invisible and inevitable; it meant no one lived past the age of nineteen.
But in the past few weeks, it was hunger that threatened to kill them all. And it would strike, regardless of age.
Even now, Esther knew her loved ones awaited her at home, starving a slow yet certain death—as was she, as was everyone else in the town of Prin. Yet for reasons she could not explain, Esther felt her grip on her weapon weaken. Then she lowered the bow.
Trembling, Esther stepped behind the tree, out of sight. She was about to stumble away when she sensed someone watching her.
Several yards away, a figure stepped into a shaft of sunlight. Androgynous and small of stature, the person had sun-darkened skin and a bald head that were covered with an ornate pattern of scars and primitive tattoos that acted as a kind of camouflage. The bulging lavender eyes placed far apart crinkled as the creature smiled, revealing a mouthful of tiny teeth.
It was Skar.
Esther was about to exclaim, surprised as she was to encounter her oldest friend, whom she had not seen in many weeks. But the other one silenced her with a finger to the lips, first gesturing toward the nursing sow, then indicating that they should leave the woods. Esther understood and fell into step behind her.
As they walked, Esther’s joy at seeing Skar was tempered by the shame she felt knowing that her friend had most likely witnessed her inexplicable cowardice. The variants, after all, were skilled trackers and hunters; and while Skar was never cruel, she would surely tease her friend about her odd behavior. Esther tried
to explain her jumbled feelings once they had made their way to the street, but the other girl cut her off.
“You were wise to leave that one alone,” Skar said. Her voice was unusually somber. “There is nothing more dangerous than a mother. If you attempt to kill one, you must do it in a single stroke, without hesitation. Otherwise, she will take advantage of your doubt and kill you instead.”
There was a pause. Then, her lecture over, Skar smiled. “It’s so good to see you, Esther.”
Yet when Esther tried to hug her, Skar flinched and drew back. At first, Esther was puzzled, then hurt, as a familiar wave of sadness washed over her.
The two girls had been best friends since early childhood, their relationship flourishing in spite of the tension between their two communities. It was a tremendous relief to both when the variants and the “norms” had reached a sort of truce in the past few months. Real distance between them had only come about recently, seemingly overnight, and for reasons more personal than either could have anticipated.
It happened when both girls became partnered.
It was to be expected, Esther now thought with a pang. After all, they weren’t children anymore; she and Skar were both well into their middle years, fifteen, and so they had both chosen mates. Life wasn’t meant to be the same after you were partnered.
Or was it?
After partnering with Caleb, Esther felt the same as ever, only stronger and happier. The love she felt for Caleb was still new and remarkable, constantly astonishing her with its depth and power. Beyond that, nothing had changed; she was still the person she had always been.
It was Skar who seemed different, who had become remote and formal after partnering with Tarq. It was she who had broken off the relationship with Esther, without warning, and who until now had avoided her oldest friend.
Esther shook off her misgivings. Skar was here and there was no telling when the two would see each other again. It seemed foolish to waste any of their precious time together on hurt feelings. Instead, she clasped Skar by the hands.
“It’s good to see you, too.”
Although Skar squeezed her hands back, Esther again sensed a slight awkwardness, something unspoken that confused her. While the variant girl seemed happy to see her, there was an odd restraint to her manner, a formality that seemed strange compared to her usual affectionate behavior. But as they walked through the familiar and desolate streets, Skar began to relax and soon seemed more like her old self.
The two talked of family and friends, and of the terrible famine that was gripping the area. The shortage was starting to affect even the variants, who had never before needed to rely solely on hunting for food. The situation had grown so dire that Skar’s partner, Tarq, had allowed her to leave the variant camp that morning in search of game. On an impulse, she had decided instead to visit Prin.
As Skar talked, Esther noticed something odd. Skar, like all variants, wore nothing but a short, sleeveless tunic. Other than a few bangles, wristwatches, and a necklace made of braided leather, her ornamentation consisted of the elaborate scars and designs etched on her skin with pigments pounded from rocks and rubbed into fresh cuts. But now, there was something different about her throat and upper arms. They were heavily daubed with what looked like dried and cracking patches of red clay.
“What’s that?” Esther interrupted, reaching out.
But again Skar flinched, ducking away before Esther could touch her.
“It’s nothing.” Then she changed the subject. “Here,” she said, nodding at the weapon Esther still held in her hand, “you need help with that. If you like, I can teach you how to shoot better.”
The girls spent the afternoon practicing how to aim, draw, and release the bow. For a target, they used a sodden and stained mattress they found in the gutter. It was soft enough not to blunt the tips of Esther’s precious arrows, which they retrieved and wiped off after each use. Then Skar took her into the woods and taught her how to identify rabbit warrens and squirrel nests and opossum scat.
“If you’re hunting something,” she explained, “it’s usually better to lie in wait than to try chasing it down.”
By the time the sun was low in the winter sky, Skar had managed to shoot three quail and a rabbit. She took her time aiming the shiny black bow that was half as tall as she was, never wasting any of her arrows. After many failed attempts, Esther also managed to kill one squirrel, something that felt at the moment like an enormous achievement. Yet now, as she weighed the small body in her hands and imagined attempting to feed four people with it, she was filled with a feeling of utter hopelessness.
Skar must have thought the same thing, for without speaking, she handed over the two fattest birds. And while Esther normally would have refused such charity, she now bit her tongue and accepted them, nodding her thanks.
As the two girls said good-bye, Skar promised she would try to visit again soon. Yet despite her generous gift and warm words, the variant girl once more kept her distance, avoiding Esther’s embrace. This made Esther wonder whether Skar, who she once thought incapable of lying, was telling the truth. Such conflicting thoughts filled Esther’s mind as she watched Skar mount her bike and take off, pedaling powerfully until she disappeared from sight.
Esther was brooding about Skar when she sensed rather than heard someone approaching her from behind. Before she could whirl around, she felt a quick tug on the back of her hair, where it was the shortest and spikiest; and she broke into her first real laugh of the day.
“Hey!”
Caleb had pulled up next to her on his bicycle, smiling. He stopped so he could gather Esther into his arms for a kiss. Then she pulled away to look at him.
Even though they had been partnered for several months, it was astonishing how he still looked new to her, like she was seeing him for the first time: the hazel eyes, the dark, tousled hair. It was, she decided, a little like falling in love again each time she saw him, although she would never say it out loud. Even so, she could not help but notice with a fresh pang his terrible gauntness, the shadows that hollowed his face and made the underlying bones protrude so painfully.
But he had already seen the game hanging from her belt and gave a low, admiring whistle. “You catch all those yourself?”
“Only the one,” Esther admitted, indicating the squirrel. “Skar came to visit and helped me with my shooting. Then she gave me these.”
Caleb nodded as he handled the birds. “She’s a good friend. I just hope it don’t get her into trouble at home.”
Esther didn’t ask how Caleb’s day of Gleaning had gone; she didn’t need to. His backpack seemed almost as flat as it had been that morning. Still, he had had some luck; he had Gleaned a dusty box that read DOMINO SUGAR on its faded label.
Gleaning was what they used to do, what everyone did in Prin, in the old days. It entailed breaking into abandoned buildings and searching them for anything even remotely of value. You would bring whatever you found—old tools and clothing, as well as books, weapons, and strange objects of plastic and metal whose purpose no one even pretended to know anymore—to the Source in exchange for clean water and food. It was the only way they knew how to feed themselves and the only sustenance they ever had: packets and jars of dried beans, flour, coffee, honey, salt. But the Source had burned to the ground two months ago. Since then, the people of Prin had been forced to Glean to feed themselves.
Of course, it was pointless. There was little to be found anywhere and most of that—the rare can of vegetables, soup, or fish—had long since rotted to poison. Everything in Prin, every house and office building and store, had been picked clean months, even years ago. But the habit of Gleaning proved hard for people to break. It gave them the feeling, Esther thought, of doing something besides waiting for death.
When they reached home, the shattered building at the end of the main street called STARBUCKS COFFEE, Esther held the bicycle and waited. Caleb scaled the fire escape and then the gnarled tree in front, checking
the squirrel traps he had set that morning. It was more ritual than anything; the traps were useless because there was never any food with which to bait them.
But at least for now, there would be fresh meat for dinner. If they were sparing in their portions, they might even save one of the quail, which would keep for another day. For there was no telling when and where their next meal would come from.
Caleb dropped back to the ground as Esther pushed open the front door, hanging crookedly on broken hinges. Upstairs, she could hear Caleb’s son, Kai, crying; as always, the sound made her insides clench with anxiety. She could also hear the murmuring of their friend, Joseph, who was trying to soothe him. Joseph was an awkward soul with more good intentions than talent for nurturing. She could picture him holding Kai in his arms, rocking him while trying to get him to suck on his favorite toy, the ring made of clear rubber with tiny plastic fish bobbing inside. It was the only way any of them knew to distract the child from his hunger, even for a short while.
By the time they made it upstairs, Kai’s cries had subsided to hiccups. Joseph, flustered, was pacing, the baby held close to his shoulder.
“Please,” Esther said. “Let me take him.”
Relieved, Joseph relinquished the child, and Esther took him in her arms. Kai was soft, warm, and surprisingly heavy.
“There,” she whispered into the baby’s neck. “That’s a good boy.”
But it was a mistake. The boy’s eyelashes, long and dark and dappled with tears, fluttered open. He opened his mouth and despite Esther’s best efforts, he began to wail once more, his face turning red.
How could anyone calm a hungry baby? she wondered, stricken.
It seemed impossible.
It was so hot.
Esther was bound, her arms and legs crushed close to her body, struggling to break free. Around her, the walls of her prison pulsated in a powerful rhythm. She could not breathe and was filled with panic, fighting for breath; she would suffocate from the heat.
She tried calling for help, but it was no good. When she shouted, her voice was inaudible, like the mewing of a kitten, and her words were sucked away from her.
