by Susan Kim
Standing atop a crumbling mountainside home miles away, someone was watching them.
It was Skar. She held a pair of binoculars to her face, but she did so gingerly. Her nose was broken and her left eye swollen nearly shut, the skin a weird combination of dark purple, green, and yellow. Her fingers weren’t working properly and to even hold the binoculars took great effort.
When she had returned from Prin that morning, Tarq had been waiting for her. She was surprised to see him, but she did not lie to him; it did not occur to her to do so. As she spoke, he listened, expressionless, hunched forward as he stared at the ground.
“So you just decided to visit Esther?” His voice was like his face, stony and without emotion. “Without asking me?”
Skar opened her hands in appeal. “She is my oldest friend, Tarq. And she is leaving for a place called Mundreel. I will never see her again.”
She didn’t even see his fist lash out.
The world exploded in a burst of light and shocking pain and the faraway sound of bones cracking. As she fell to the ground, Skar curled into a tight ball, her arms uselessly wrapped around her head. But it was no good; Tarq was already raining blows and kicks on her. It seemed to last an eternity, and even though she grew numb to the pain, throughout it all was her disbelief, repeating again and again like a voice in her head.
Why? Why was he doing this to her? What had she done wrong?
Finally, he stopped. Panting, he stumbled to their doorway, where he loomed for a moment, framed by sunlight.
“If you disobey me again,” the voice from the silhouette said, “I will kill you.”
Then he was gone.
Now, alone in her hiding place, Skar shivered. Her body hurt all over. She had trouble even drawing breath; navigating her way from the variant camp, slowly, on bicycle, had taken all of what little strength she had. Yet even greater was the shock of realization.
Esther was right.
It wasn’t her fault.
Skar was filled with an emotion she had rarely felt before: anger. She had done nothing wrong, nothing that could possibly merit her partner’s wrath. Understanding that simple truth made her decision easy.
The only thing that nagged at her were Tarq’s last words. If you disobey me again, I will kill you.
Skar shuddered, and for a moment she hesitated.
Then, unexpectedly, a new and clear voice said something else in her ear, something that was so obvious, she was surprised she hadn’t thought of it before.
He would have to find her first.
She would go to her friends, Esther and Caleb, and join them on their journey. Although she had no goods or water to bring with her, only the few items she had snatched up when she left her home, she was a good hunter and knew she could earn her keep.
It was torture to remount her bicycle, much less navigate through the dense and tangled forest. Yet once she reached the highway, Skar forced herself to ignore the pain and focused instead on riding as swiftly as she could. She didn’t think Tarq was following her; in fact, she doubted he would even notice she was gone until evening.
They had been on the highway a few hours before Esther saw the figure.
It rode full bore down from the mountains toward the group of travelers. Many slowed or came to a halt, anticipating trouble. Yet Esther noticed there was something shaky about the intruder’s control of the bike.
At last, at the bottom, it came to a stop, kicking up dust.
It was Skar.
Esther saw that Skar kept her distance. Even though she had dismounted, she stayed where she was, holding herself with dignity. Skar did not know, after all, if she would be welcomed; and Esther knew she was not one to beg.
“Esther,” Skar said.
Seeing her friend, Esther was already smiling so hard her cheeks ached. But as she left her bike and rushed forward, she gave a low gasp and her hand flew to her mouth. She could see what Tarq had done to her.
Blushing, Skar made a move to hide her broken nose, the dried blood, and fresh bruises. Then she seemed to think better of it and lifted her head high.
Esther approached her and took her by the hand.
“Welcome home,” was all she said.
Four
THOUGH RAFE WAS THE OFFICIAL LEADER, CALEB RODE ALONGSIDE THE caravan, making sure that no one fell behind or was in need of help. He was on one of the dozen or so free bicycles, untethered to any vehicle.
Esther, on her wagon-mounted bicycle, was talking with Skar, who walked beside her. She had tried to insist that her friend ride with Joseph, and Skar had been just as adamant in refusing. Yet each step, Caleb knew, cost the variant girl; he was astonished and impressed by her toughness.
Caleb had wondered how the others would respond to having a variant travel with them. Once they took note of her bow and arrow, most of the townspeople welcomed her, if grudgingly; variants were famed as hunters. Even Rafe was open to the idea.
“As long as she earns her keep,” he said. “Maybe she can even teach some of the others how to hunt.”
As he approached Rafe now, Caleb saw that he was bicycling with difficulty. Part of the problem was that he was attempting to study something he had propped on his handlebars. Caleb recognized the large, colored pages filled with lines as a book of maps, something Rafe had likely stolen from Joseph.
Rafe had decked out his vehicle in grand style. He had ignored Caleb’s instructions to pack lightly and instead piled his wagon high with everything he had been able to salvage: food, clothes, furniture. He had a canopy over his bicycle, to shield it from the sun. He even enlisted another boy to walk behind and make sure the wagon didn’t tip.
“Be careful it stays steady now!” Rafe yelled behind him. “And watch for bumps!”
Caleb gazed at Rafe’s luxuries. “Sure you got enough?” he asked dryly.
Rafe considered the question. “I hope so!” he called. “Maybe I missed a few things!”
“Want me to go and check if you left anything?”
“That’s awful nice of you!” Rafe yelled. “But I really don’t—”
But Caleb had already raced on.
He passed others, anonymous in their hooded robes and sunglasses. They bore down on their pedals, their billowing sheets belted at the legs so as not to get caught in the gears. Many more trudged behind, some helping push the heavy carts. For the most part, no one spoke, although he could hear one voice, shrill and incessant, long before he caught sight of the speaker. It was Rhea. She was walking with Silas and talking nonstop.
Although she had spoken against him at the meeting, Caleb felt sorry for the older girl. Like many of the others, she had lost a loved one in the earthquake; but unlike them, she still wore her partnering cloth around her wrist. With life so short, mourning was a luxury no one could afford; to continue wearing the symbol of your relationship even a few days after your partner’s death was considered self-indulgent. Yet having lost his first partner the year before, Caleb could sympathize. Rhea was chatting animatedly about herself to the younger boy, who didn’t appear to be listening.
Caleb continued on, joining others. One of them seemed to be going slowly on purpose, wobbling from side to side in an effort to stay upright.
Eli was doing his best to accompany Asha, who walked beside him. The boy knew the rules of the caravan: Since there was only a limited number of bicycles, everyone had to take turns walking, free-riding, or pulling a wagon. Free-riding was the easiest and most pleasant form of travel, and frequent squabbles erupted when people thought that others had gone over their allotted time. Eli was worried that someone would take advantage of Asha, because she was too naïve to ask for her turn.
He was determined that this would not happen.
Eli couldn’t deny that he thought Asha was pretty—round-faced and with a sweet expression—and her childlike quality made him feel protective. He also knew she’d lost her older brother in the quake and so had no one to look after her.
“I
’m sorry for your loss,” he said, gazing at the ground as he pedaled next to her. “Your brother, I mean.”
“Oh, he ain’t gone,” Asha said, with certainty.
“No?”
“No. Someone just shook things up, then reached down and grabbed everybody. It’s like that game, when you throw a little ball in the air and grab those pointy things? They’ll all come down again, you’ll see.”
“You believe that?”
“I know it.”
Eli couldn’t help but smile. This idea, while ludicrous, still oddly comforted him.
By now, the sun was halfway down the afternoon sky, which meant it was time to find somewhere to stop for the night. Caleb assumed they would be taking the nearest exit; after all, only a fool would choose to camp on a major highway, especially with such a large group. Yet Rafe showed no sign he was thinking of pulling over.
They passed a sign for Schroon Lake, the destination Caleb had originally suggested. Perhaps recalling the name, Rafe arrived at his own decision.
“This way, for the night!” he shouted.
The group steered onto a narrow road that led off the highway. In the near distance, through the blackened branches of lifeless trees, they could see a huge, dry expanse that had once been a body of water. As they approached, Caleb noticed the rotting hulls of sailboats and other detritus resting on the cracked bottom.
He could also detect the distinct smell of charred wood and smoke.
The town itself was no more than a modest main street that had recently been gutted by fire. It was clear there was no place to stay and nothing to Glean. Any stores or businesses had burned to the ground, leaving little but scorched remains still drifting ash.
“This the place you wanted us to go?” Rafe asked Caleb, his tone contemptuous.
But Caleb didn’t answer. He was focused on something else entirely.
Something lay by the side of the road. At first, it seemed to be a pile of filthy sheets, old robes someone had taken off and discarded. But it shifted, revealing a thin arm.
It was a person. And whoever it was was still alive.
“Watch it,” warned Rafe. He was already moving on, covering his mouth with his sleeve. “You don’t want to mess with anyone who got the sickness. You’ll end up dead and getting the rest of us sick, too.”
But Caleb was already off his bicycle and crossing to the stranger. He knelt by the person’s side and spoke in quiet tones. Then he leaned in close. After a moment, he gave a start and pulled the hood away that covered the face.
He saw who it was and gasped.
The girl, fourteen or so, had hair the color of honey and a face disfigured beyond belief. Her pale skin was lashed by ripples of flesh that cascaded from her brow to her cheeks and chin. One eye, the lid discolored and sealed shut, continually wept tears, and the other one, a disconcertingly bright blue, was staring and open.
“Michal,” Caleb said. He could hardly breathe. It felt unreal to see his brother’s former girlfriend again, and like this: miles from Prin, maimed almost beyond recognition, and left for dead by the side of the road.
“Caleb,” she whispered. Her voice was tiny, like a dead leaf skittering down the sidewalk. “Help me.”
“So that’s who it is.” A crowd of the curious had gathered around them, and a boy spoke up now. “Levi’s girl.”
“She don’t look so pretty now, does she,” said another, who spat on the ground.
“Levi’s whore,” Rhea said. She had pushed her way to the front of the crowd, her eyes glittering. “His slut.” She seemed to relish the words.
Again, Caleb spoke to Michal, too softly for anyone else to hear. “Did Levi do this to you?”
The girl nodded once and said something Caleb couldn’t hear. Then Rafe sauntered up, surveying the situation.
“What’s going on?” he said.
It was only then that he noticed the girl at the center of the crowd and he squinted in vague recollection. Rafe had seen her at the Source, always in the background, but only once or twice, and certainly not since her face had been ruined. He recoiled.
“Somebody give me some water!” Caleb called.
As Esther fetched a bottle, the circle around Michal grew. People shoved and jostled to get a look, and a cruel, reckless gaiety filled the air. Silas pushed up his nose and pulled down his eyelids in a vicious parody, mincing and swaying his hips to the wild amusement of some. Others reached toward Michal, snatching at her robes and hair.
“We don’t got anything for people like you!”
“You should have saved something to eat from the Source!”
Rhea reached out and pinched the new girl, hard, on the arm. “Ugly whore,” she hissed. “You don’t belong with decent folk.”
Rafe was all for people enjoying themselves, but time was wasting and he was growing bored. “I’m sorry,” he said to Caleb above the noise, “but looks like you done all you can. Leave the girl. We got to be on our way.”
There was a rumble of outrage from the others; this had been their only fun since leaving Prin and it was just getting started. But Caleb cut it off.
“She’s coming. She’s one of us, and she’s gonna travel with us.”
Rafe opened his mouth to object, but Caleb continued. “If she doesn’t come, we don’t go another step. I made most of the wagons and I can take them apart.”
Caleb waited until the crowd relented and broke up, with much muttering and reluctance. Then he picked Michal up in his arms and carried her to Esther’s wagon. She was lighter than air, almost as light as Kai. There he laid her beside Joseph, who stared at her, a bit afraid.
Caleb gave Michal the water and some food and then closed the tarp over her. He didn’t explain but met Esther’s eye and nodded once.
Rafe watched the crowd disperse before gazing after Caleb with poorly disguised resentment.
“All right,” he said, “let’s go!”
Esther dropped her pace so she could steal a peek at the new girl.
Michal now walked by herself, toward the back of the caravan, helping push the heavy water wagon. She spoke to nobody and kept her head down.
Yet although she had rewrapped her destroyed face in its protective sheet and again pulled her hood over her head, a piece of hair had escaped and now trailed down the side of her throat. It caught the rays of the setting sun, revealing itself to be a color Esther had never seen before: gleaming gold, with streaks of copper in it.
Michal used to live with Levi, Esther realized, the boy who had the best of everything. So she must have once been beautiful.
Esther felt a pang. She had no illusions about her own attractiveness; although she was too thin and dark with flyaway hair and eyes that were too big, Caleb liked the way she looked. Still, she had no idea what kind of connection her partner had had to this girl. What did it mean that he had risked the entire caravan to defend her?
As she mulled over her thoughts, Esther became aware of a bad smell that grew until it became an overpowering chemical stench. Ahead of her, the caravan slowed and then stopped. Even from where she was, Esther could see what was wrong. In the distance, an oily mass spread across the highway, gleaming black and impassable. It reached deep into the woods on either side, as big as several fields put together. Here and there, lumps bulged from the otherwise smooth surface: animals that had been caught in the poisonous mess, and perhaps unlucky travelers, as well.
Esther heard a rustling sound. Perched on his bicycle, Rafe was turning Joseph’s maps one way, then around again. He seemed agitated.
“I know where we are,” he kept saying. “Don’t anyone panic, now.”
Caleb managed to convince Rafe to turn the caravan around; the sun was dropping in the sky and finding shelter was more important than figuring out a detour. They backtracked to the exit, then continued past it until they reached another town, less than a mile away. The center of the village was tiny—not much more than a handful of stores clustered around a four-way inte
rsection—and showed the aftereffects of the earthquake. Yet it would do as a place to spend the night.
Most of the townspeople, including Rafe, headed into one of the few buildings still standing, called RITE AID. There, several curled up on the trash-strewn floor to sleep. Outside, Silas took the tools that let him break into buildings and wandered off to see what he could find; Skar, too, disappeared into the nearby woods with her bow and remaining arrows. Joseph released Stumpy from her carrier and Kai sat in the dust, watching the cat stalk and pounce on grasshoppers.
Esther and Caleb took two of the free bicycles. They continued down the road past the ruins of houses until they found what Caleb had spied on the horizon: a dented sign that loomed overhead on a giant metal pole. It read STOP & SHOP. Beneath it was a brick building, its large window frames edged with shards of broken glass and the entrance gaping open where swinging doors once hung.
Inside, dust motes danced in the air. Trash was strewn everywhere—not only long-discarded food cartons and packages but also an old mattress, sodden newspapers, the remains of a fire, dead leaves.
Caleb and Esther worked their way down aisles of filthy shelves, going quickly to take advantage of the failing light. They avoided the piles of cans that bulged, leaking the foul, black liquid that used to be things called baked beans, tuna fish, soup. They bypassed several shelves of once-colorful cardboard cartons, which they knew held only the rotted dust of ancient cereal, mixed with insect casings, rat droppings, and mold.
But on one high shelf, empty except for spilled flour, Esther came across a windfall: a white and blue box.
“Hey,” she called. “Look what I found.”
By the time Caleb showed up, Esther had already torn it open. Inside were two neat layers of small yellow cakes, ten in all, each individually sealed in clear plastic. He took one out, tried to squeeze it, and sniffed it. So did she.
“Pretty hard,” she commented; “but seems like they’re okay.”
