The Last Girl on Earth

by Alexandra Blogier

  He knows. He has to. I open my mouth, about to tell another lie, but Zo cuts me off before I can say anything.

  “Li was home by midnight,” she tells him. “We played a round of Sudden Death Turbo Ball, this game we made up when we were kids.”

  She points to the rackets in the corner of the living room, leaning up against the wall. Hael looks at the rackets; then he looks at Zo, at me. I nod. “It’s pretty fun, actually,” I say, forcing myself to smile.

  I can’t tell if he believes her, if he believes me. I don’t know what he’s thinking at all. “We talked about the gala, about what everyone was wearing, then we went to bed,” Zo goes on. “We slept in Li’s room. We were together all night. And when we woke up the next morning, Braxon’s parents beamed me and that’s how we found out he was missing.”

  His gaze lingers on me for a moment too long. “Thank you, both of you, for your time,” he says quietly. “If there’s anything you hear, anything else you remember from that night, please get in touch.”

  He heads to the door, walking across the cliff, away from our house, out to the street. I hold my breath until I’m sure he’s gone.

  Zo comes into the kitchen and sits down with me at the table.

  “Why did you say all that?” I ask, my hands trembling. “Why did you tell him I got home before midnight? Why did you—”

  “Ryn came by that night,” she whispers. “You said you were with him, but I knew he was looking for you. I didn’t know why you lied about where you were, but now…”

  My father comes out from his study, placing his hand on my back, and the truth comes pouring out.

  “It was me,” I whisper, glancing down at my hands, locked tightly underneath the table. “I killed Braxon.”

  Zo gasps. I look up at her, pleading. A look of shock flashes across her face.

  “I had no choice,” I say, my voice wavering. “He figured out who I am. What I am.” I can’t bring myself to tell them that it was my fault—that if I hadn’t told Mirabae the truth, Braxon would still be here.

  “He attacked me. He tried to kill me. I fought back, but I didn’t mean to—”

  My words cut off as I start to cry, tears streaming down my face. I pull in a desperate, shaky breath, staring at my family.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper.

  Zo reaches across the table and takes my hand.

  “It’s okay,” she says quietly. “Nothing on this planet is more important to me than you.”

  My love for her expands infinitely. I don’t know how she could be so selfless, always putting my life before her own.

  “You lied for me,” I say, and even though she’s my sister, even though this is what we always feared and endlessly planned for, it still takes me aback that she did it.

  “I’ve been lying for you my whole life,” Zo says softly.

  My dad has been standing mutely behind me. He puts his hand against my back, moving it in slow circles.

  I’ll never be able to express to Zo how grateful I am. I put my hand on her leg. “Are you okay, after all that?” I ask.

  “Are you?” she asks, and I don’t answer.

  Instead, I feel myself break apart, and I start to cry again.

  “We’ll figure it out, Li, like we always do,” my father says, kneeling down in front of me. “Once you get to Penthna, everything will be okay.”

  “No, Dad,” I say, my voice a whisper. “It’s not okay. It’s never going to be okay. It’s only a matter of time. Sooner or later the Agency is going to figure out I killed Braxon, or discover who I am.” I take a gasping breath and admit what I knew the moment Hael showed up on our doorstep. “I need to leave the Bay. I need to run.”

  Zo exchanges a worried look with our father.

  “Where would you even go?” she asks, her hand tightening around mine.

  “I don’t know,” I say, my voice shaking. “But I can’t go to Penthna, and I can’t stay here.”

  My father presses his palms against his forehead, like he’s trying to decide what to do next.

  “I’m right, Dad,” I say. “You know I’m right. Running away is the safest thing I can do, for myself and for both of you.”

  For a moment, he’s silent; then he takes a breath. He motions for us to sit on the couch. “What I’m about to tell you is something no one else knows,” he says, his voice hushed as Zo and I sit down on either side of him.

  “Sixteen years ago, just after you were born, Li, I was able to transport a small number of humans out of the Bay, to a colony in the north.”

  The corners of the room blur together. The floor heaves up beneath me. Everything he says sounds foreign and far away.

  “They live along the plains, completely cut off from the rest of the world.”

  He looks out over the ocean, at the way the water moves.

  “What are you saying?” I whisper.

  He turns to me and smiles, but his eyes are tinged with sadness.

  “I’m saying that you’re not the only one left, my love.”

  His words echo through my head. I’m not the only one left. I’m not the last.

  “For the first few years of the colony’s existence, everything was too unstable, the danger of discovery too high,” he says. “The Agency was ruthless. They were out for blood. There was always the chance the colony would be found and destroyed.”

  His words fall over me. I let them sink down to a place where they mean something I can understand.

  “I promised your parents I would keep you safe,” he says quietly. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. Your life was too precious to risk.”

  He stands up and paces around the perimeter of the room.

  “It will take you one month to reach the north,” he says. “Travel along the coast until you get to the border. Don’t talk to anyone, don’t tell anyone who you are or where you’re going. Once you get north, you’ll be safe.”

  “What about you and Zo?” I choke out. “What will happen when I don’t show up for my new assignment in the Forces?”

  My father shakes his head. “That’s not your concern, Li. I’ll handle it. Zo and I will be fine.”

  He turns abruptly and walks into his study. A moment later, he comes back with a pack in his hands.

  “Everything you need is in here,” he says. “You’ll leave tonight.”

  I look over at Zo. Her breathing is shallow and her eyes brim with tears. She shakes her head wildly, as though she can push everything he’s said away.

  “Don’t go,” she whispers. “Li, please, don’t go.”

  I stand up and walk over to her. Wrapping my arms around her shoulders, I hold her as she cries. We both know I’m already gone.

  That night, just after the sun sets, I change into pants and a long-sleeved shirt, both made with thread that adjusts to the temperature. Everything I wear is green, like the leaves on the trees in the forest. I think back to the mornings I spent there with my father, so painful at the time, now something I understand. He knew that one day, he would have to let me go. He needed to know that I could survive.

  I walk downstairs. My father and sister stand by the door. I pull on my boots, and my father holds the pack out to me, helping me put it onto my shoulders. Zo hands me a piece of paper, folded in half.

  “Wait to open it, okay?” she says, her hands shaking.

  I wrap my arms around her and hold her tight.

  “I love you, Zo,” I whisper.

  My father presses his hand to the door and it slides open, revealing the earth around us, the ocean below.

  “We are always with you.” He kisses my forehead. “You’re ready, Li,” he says.

  I can’t find the words to say goodbye. The three of us hug; then I break away.

  I push myself forward, walking out to the cliff, away from my family, my home. I look back, just once, and I see Zo place her hand over her heart.

  There’s no moon this far into the forest, no stars, no light at all. I know this land
from memory, every shift in the terrain, the roots of every tree. I know exactly where to turn. How many times have I run through the forest, I think numbly, only to be here now, running for my life? My father was always with me then, the danger speculative. I’ve spent my life planning for a moment like this, and still it doesn’t feel real.

  I pause to catch my breath, reaching into my pocket for the paper Zo gave me. I open it and see my own face. It’s the picture she drew of me so many months ago. The face on the page is my face, but that girl is someone I no longer know, the distance between us unreachable now. I study the picture, tracing its lines with my fingers. So much has changed since that night, back when I was safe, when I thought I knew the shape my life would take.

  I know I should just disappear, but I don’t know how to leave forever without saying goodbye to Ryn. I run until I reach his street, walking through the garden to the back of the house, where his room is. I pick up a handful of pebbles and toss them at his window. The lights in his room turn on. Ryn appears, pressing his hand to the glass. The window slides open. He leans out and looks down at me.

  “Go to the door,” he calls out. “I’ll let you in.”

  I walk to the front of his house and wait for him to come downstairs. Ryn opens the door and stands in front of me, shirtless, his hair wild from sleep.

  “Ryn,” I say, “we need to talk, but not here.” We go upstairs, into his room. He closes the door and sits on the bed.

  “Li,” he says, unnerved. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  I sit beside him, trying to find the words I need. I have to tell him everything. I have to tell him what I’ve done. This, right here, is when it all crashes around me. This is where it ends.

  “Ryn,” I say, his name catching in my throat. “I’m the one. I killed Braxon.”

  He stares at me, his face still. I wait for his expression to shift to disbelief, to horror. Instead, he takes my hands in his own.

  “He attacked me,” I go on. “After the gala. He heard what Mir said; he knew I’m human.”

  My body shakes as though I’m back there, on the cliffs.

  “He was going to kill me. I didn’t have any way out.”

  Ryn nods, asking for no more explanation than the one I’ve given.

  “It’s okay, Li,” he says, smoothing my hair back. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

  I press my hands up to my face, trying to hold back tears.

  I lift my eyes to his and wait for him to say something, anything at all. “I’m just as violent as Abdoloreans believe.”

  “You did what you had to do to survive,” he says. “You’re strong and brave, and there’s no one I want to be with more, in this galaxy or the next.”

  I pull him toward me, pressing my lips against his. I kiss him as though it can stop time, as though it can save me. I want to stay in his arms forever, but I know I need to start moving. I pull away and look at him, at the quiet in his eyes.

  “I’m running away, Ryn,” I say. “I’m not going to Penthna. I’m leaving here, now.”

  I take a breath and tell him about the north, about the other humans alive on Earth. I tell him that I have to go, that it’s the only thing that will protect the people I love. I reach for his hands, searching for some way to say goodbye. He looks at me like he knows what I’m going to say next.

  “I’m coming with you,” he says.

  “You can’t leave your life behind,” I say. “Not like this. What about your placement? What about Ursna?”

  “My life isn’t on some other planet. It’s on this planet, with you,” he says. “No matter what that means. Wherever you go, I’m going. You don’t have to do this alone.”

  “We can never come back to the Bay,” I say. I could list all the dangers we’ll face, all the risks we’ll be taking, but I can tell by the determination in his eyes that there’s no way to convince him to stay behind. “We’ll never see our families again.”

  “I know,” he says.

  He stands up and moves around the room, pulling clothes from his closet, putting his boots on. He’s dressed in black, so he’ll blend into the forest, into the darkness around us. He shoves supplies into a pack—a knife, hydration capsules, small tools, a fire starter. We walk downstairs and step out into the street. Ryn reaches his hand out to me.

  “Are you ready?” he asks.

  “Yes,” I say.

  * * *

  —

  We walk along the coast for days. All we see is water. All that exists is sand and sky. We collect whatever food we can find, picking beach plums off the bushes that grow low to the ground. We drink from clear streams. We ration the food from our packs. We study the map my father gave me, taking shelter in the caves that run along the shore. We walk as though we know where we’re going, like we know what this strange future of ours will hold. We don’t speak much, and we don’t look behind us. The only sounds are the waves, the wind, our breath.

  There are nights when I can’t sleep, when I’m woken up by nightmares. On these nights, Ryn sits beside me, drawing designs in the sand with the tips of his fingers. He doesn’t ask me what I see in my dreams. We sit together until the sun rises; then we start walking again.

  The night before we leave the Bay, Ryn and I lie awake, looking up at the stars.

  “Tell me something good,” I say.

  He wraps his arms around me and talks quietly in the dark.

  “Sharks swim while they sleep,” he says. “Fish have a two-chambered heart.”

  He kisses me then, and his lips taste like salt, like the ocean we bathe in.

  We wake up before the sun rises. We turn on the transmitter my father put in the pack, listening for the sound of our names, hearing nothing at all. We walk along the edge of the water. The waves wash over our tracks in the sand. We climb up the last cliff on the coast, the one dividing the Bay from the rest of Earth. I turn around and look out at the water. “Goodbye.”

  * * *

  —

  The air along the plains is colder than anything we’ve known before. Most days we go hungry. We get used to this. We get used to lots of things, like walking for days at a time, the silence that settles between us. Each night, Ryn builds a fire. I collect handfuls of grass, whatever branches I can find. Ryn digs a hole in the ground and puts the fire starter between his fingers, a small, flat circle. He snaps and the flames burst to life. We watch the fire burn, and I search for comfort in its small, sacred heat.

  “What if we can’t find it?” I ask, my voice quiet.

  “We’ll find it,” he says, and the clouds move quickly across the sky.

  * * *

  —

  The days bleed together, one week blurring into the next. Each mile we travel brings us closer to safety. Each day the grief I carry hardens a little more inside me, until it feels like something else, something close to hope.

  One morning as we’re walking, I look up to see a bird fly across the sky. We stop and watch it, its wings spread wide. The bird carries a branch in its beak.

  “Li,” says Ryn, studying the map. “We’re almost there.”

  I glance over at him. He’s here with me, something real, something I can hold on to. I look up again at the sky stretching over us, the bird far away from us now. We take off across the plains and the land spreads out before us, shining with the light of the sun.

  Go, my heart beats. Go.

  Thank you first to my family. To my mother, for raising me right, for standing behind me in everything. To my father, for always believing that writing was something I could do. To Seth Blogier, best brother, who continues to amaze me with his creative vision. To the rest of my family, the whole mess of you, your love lifts me up.

  Thank you to Josh Bank, for taking this idea and running with it. Thank you to Annie Stone, for guiding me through the beginning of this book. Thank you to Eliza Swift, for leading this story toward its true north. Thank you to Sara Shandler, for her incredible dedication to and insights in
to this story. Thank you to Wendy Loggia, for being an amazing editor, and for giving this book a home. Thank you to Mallory Grigg, for creating a beautiful cover that captures the universe. To everyone at Alloy and Random House who worked to bring this book to life, thank you so very much. To Hannah Pepper-Cunningham and Rachel Cole, my oldest and dearest, for their deep and unending friendship, for continually inspiring me with the art they make. To Kendell Newman, for her writerly support all the way from the tundra. To Yoko Feinman, for her eyes and her soul, for her heart. To Billy Gildea, for everything, for it all.

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