Up on my left, Sunshine Bailey gives me the same broad grin that I recognize from her missing person flyer. Rain’s sister waves, and I wave back. Kyle and Jane lean into each other and watch silently as I struggle past. Kyle gives me a soft, tentative smile of encouragement, and I smile back at his big nose, big ears, and warm eyes. They could have been a family, my angel family. I could have worn a beautiful costume and performed in their acrobatic show to the delight of endless fans…but my brothers killed them instead.

  Little chips of stone are cracking off of me as my limbs struggle to bend. I feel my organs grind against each other inside the cavity of my body. All my once-pliable skin and muscle is now rigid, screaming and breaking as I move.

  So many more faces watch my progress. The angels we killed on the mission, the victims we saved, and the ones we didn’t. A huge knot of disinterested motel clerks, toll booth collectors, grocery store cashiers hardly notice my progress. Ambrosia the stripper clutches her molting feather boa, Garret leers at me from behind his puma mask. The other members of the Totem are higher up, watching in silence, even little Finch who must be dead of the virus.

  The angle of the climb is getting steeper. My stone body is too heavy. I topple over. My raw, scabbed palms hit the dust, and I whimper as little bolts of pain ride up my arms. Grand, my biological father, watches me, disappointment so clear in his blue eyes. Fear pulses through me under the weight of his stare. How many sweet dreams have turned into nightmares because he walked through them? How many ways did I plan on killing him before the night I actually did? I need to get past him. Away from those eyes. I crawl, arms trembling, pulling myself up the path little by little. The sun laughs at me, and the laugh joins the song of the mountains.

  Chapter 56 – Tarren

  The next day, the sixth since the Cure was released, I carefully strap Tammy into her pink car seat and drive toward a specific mountain in the Nevada desert. Two years ago, I designated this as the place my family members are supposed to go when we can’t find each other.

  And this is exactly the situation.

  According to Rain, who had apparently just been apprised of the full situation, Maya was part of the team that released the Cure. She completed the last release three days ago and hasn’t been heard from since. Chain, after completing his part of the mission, gave the news to Gabe two days ago. At my request, he went back last night, but Gabe’s rental house in New Hampshire was empty. He was gone.

  The desert surrounds us in all directions. I turn off the one-lane paved highway, and Danielle’s low-riding BMW doesn’t appreciate the uneven, rocky road. Tammy claps her hands and yells, “Bump!” every time we hit one.

  “Yes, bump,” I say absently.

  Maya is almost surely dead. None of our infected test subjects lasted beyond four days. I try to think of ways around this. Perhaps the fact that she exhibits less genetic changes than a typical angel will help her fight the virus more effectively. Perhaps her DNA will not degrade as quickly, allowing her white blood cells to adapt…

  “Bump!”

  It is pointless to speculate, but no matter how many metal boxes I fill, more worry remains. An endless well.

  “Bump! Tawyn, bump!”

  “Yes, bump.”

  A small dot of artificial color in the distance catches my eye. I squint, trying to make it out. I push the accelerator as much as I dare.

  “Weeeeee!”

  The dot in the distance grows into the distinctive shape of a silver Honda. It sits sideways in the path, right at the base of the mountain. Its driver’s side door hangs open. I park next to the car, lean over the steering wheel, and search for the barely perceptible path that winds round the mountain. My eyes catch it, and I follow it up, up, up.

  There! Close to the top, I see movement. Her features aren’t distinct, but the size of the body and the shoulder-length dark hair is right. Maya. She is on her knees, crawling up.

  My first thought is, six days. She survived six days. This is good. Her body is fighting the virus. She might have a chance. Then the next thought comes. She must be very, very sick. I watch her slow, crawling progress, and then I’m fumbling to release my seatbelt. I glance in the rearview mirror at Tammy’s big, blue eyes.

  It’s very unlikely anyone would drive down here, I think. Especially with so many people cowering in their homes, afraid of the Red Death. They’re still finding bodies, including a group of nearly 100 in a home just a few hours outside of Las Vegas, but the CDC reports that no new cases have been diagnosed since yesterday.

  “Tammy, I need to leave, just for a little while,” I tell her.

  “No,” she says, one of her most common words.

  “I need you to stay here, okay? Be good.”

  “No, no, no!” She shakes her head for emphasis, her black hair swinging.

  The rational part of me knows that she can’t get out of her child seat, not with her awkward fingers, and that the chance of someone coming down this road in the next twenty minutes is infinitesimal.

  Her lower lip thrusts out and trembles. “I wanna come,” she huffs and bangs her chubby fists against the seat.

  “I’m sorry,” I say to her. “I’ll be back soon.”

  Even as my mind transitions its focus to the mountain, to Maya, I wonder if my mother ever felt this heavy blossom of guilt every time she left us at home to pursue the mission. Did she have to tear her eyes away from us, as I do with Tammy? Did her ears ring with our cries?

  I keep the engine on, air conditioning full powered to keep her cool. Tammy lets out a first howl as I close the door and turn away from the car. Then I run for the mountain.

  Chapter 57 – Maya

  It is a fight. My last fight. To get up the mountain before I turn to stone. Maybe the large, listless rocks all around me are the bodies of those who didn’t make it. The mountains sing, and I am beginning to understand their words. It is the song of waiting and watching, of endless life and death, of shadows that spin round and round.

  A woman stands just in front of me on the path as I crawl. I look up into Diana’s pale eyes. Gabe told me that they would switch from blue to gray, like Tarren’s. Like mine. How could you turn your children into soldiers? I think to her. How could you give me up? Was her heart more stone than mine? I’ll never know.

  Tammy stands next to Diana, hip jutted out, nails a crimson red. Her face is blurry, but I feel the confidence radiating off of her. She ignores the song of the mountains. She lives my minutes, not their millennia.

  My knees burn, but the feeling is far away. Up above, Karen and Henry wait for me. Heather and War stand next to them. This is an odd combo. Karen and Henry are blurry, Heather and War sharp and vivid.

  Now I see the flat outcropping, the one Tarren brought us to the single time we walked this path together. I pull in a quavering breath. Lo stands a few feet in front of me, arms folded over his skinny chest, his nose rings and chin studs winking in the sunlight. Dr. Lee watches with sad eyes. He understands the song of the mountains. Francesca stands beside him, a supporting hand on his arm. She gives me such an encouraging smile that I want to cry.

  And there he is, standing on the last little ridge before the outcropping – Ryan. Vanilla.

  Do you blame me for stealing all the years of your life? I think. I couldn’t save him from Grand’s murderous touch. Couldn’t save myself. You were the first person I ever loved, I think, and my hands twitch to touch his soft black hair. Once, it was my life’s goal to make him smile.

  I use them, this small group of my only friends, to pull myself up to my feet. I take wobbly but determined steps, pressing each foot into the ground to push forward onto the flat outcropping. I already know what I’m going to find at the top, and my heart hammers with the terror of it.

  And there they are.

  Gem is closest, standing at the outer edge of the flat overlook. He wears the brown shirt with turtles on it, and his eyes are soft and tired. We had so little time together, but our minds touched. I knew him, and he was a kind person, my brother. Gabe sits on a rock holding Sir Hopsalot in his lap. His face is young and animated, the way it was when I first met him. He cocks a grin at me, his eyes dancing with trickster mischief. Tarren stands next to him, his face composed and strong. Those pale blue eyes miss nothing.

  Is he angry? Disappointed? I can’t tell.

  Rain stands closest to the ledge. He peers down into the emptiness and then looks back up at me. For a moment I believe that he is real, that his body will be warm and his strength will hold me up.

  I glance behind, and everyone is staring, waiting.

  I feel them all. Gabe, Tarren, Rain, Gem. The ones I love. Karen, Henry, Ryan, Dr. Lee, Francesca, the ones I miss. They are all here with me. My stumbling steps take me over the spot where Gabe laid down the picnic blanket, past the flat area where Tarren surprised me with the Prism and finally unlocked me from the monster of my hunger. And here is the small boulder overlooking the edge of the cliff.

  I crawl onto it and look down into the cavernous drop.

  From very far away, a voice whispers my name.

  Chapter 58 – Tarren

  I shout her name as I run, knowing that her sensitive hearing will catch my voice, especially in these echoing canyons. But if she’s sick, if she’s hallucinating…

  My heart is loud in my ears as I run up the path, and the muscles in my legs begin to burn even before I clear the first mile. I pick up speed when the path evens out, but mostly it is uphill at a steep grade. I put my head down and churn.

  I run past her wobbly, wandering footprints and then the smudges of her knees and small handprints. My lungs stitch with the need for oxygen. I can see the alcove now a quarter of a mile away. She is on her feet, her steps sloppy as she moves toward the edge of the cliff. The drunken gait tells me everything. She is hallucinating, in the final stages of the illness.

  “Maya!” I choke out. “Maya!”

  I watch her clamor onto a rock. The same one she sat on, back turned to me, when I set up the Prism for her almost two years ago.

  I force my legs to go faster. I’m wheezing with the effort. My arms pump, my muscles scream. Black dots dance at the edge of my vision.

  “Maya!”

  Chapter 59 – Maya

  “Tarren,” I murmur. His voice is the wind, calling from the canyon, inviting me into the void. I take one more difficult breath. The colors are running into each other, and my heart sounds too loud. My hands shake, but I manage to peel away my gloves and drop them to the ground. I won’t need them anymore.

  The mountains will keep singing, long after my stone body shatters to sand, after these days are forgotten.

  “It will be fast,” I say to all the ghosts who crowd around me. “I won’t feel a thing.”

  Rain looks so nervous, so sad.

  “Then again, maybe I’ll fly.” I stand on the boulder, stretch out my arms, and close my eyes…

  Chapter 60 – Tarren

  Running. Gasping. My eyes locked on Maya. I watch her clumsily tug off her gloves. Then she stands, looking out over the canyon below. She raises her arms up as if she might truly believe she could fly.

  “No, Maya!” I make it to the flat alcove and rush toward her. The black dots in my vision engorge to dimes.

  Her head falls back, eyes closed. The wind blows her hair from her face. She tips forward.

  I lunge for her.

  Chapter 61 – Gabe

  Empty house. Empty heart.

  I’d been so afraid of finding her body, but this nothing is so much worse. I sit in my room. Think, I tell my brain. Think, you useless blob of shit.

  There’s only one other place. And thank God. Suddenly, I can’t spend one more minute in this house full of ghosts.

  “Bessie, we’ve got a little further to go,” I tell my truck as I swing into the driver’s seat and pull the seatbelt down.

  I can’t think that Maya is dead. I really, really can’t. So I don’t. I just…don’t.

  Chapter 62 – Tarren

  As soon as I bring Maya into Danielle’s house, I lay her in front of the Prism to try and force as much of the dying sunlight on her as possible while I scrape the thick scabs off her palms. Her pulse is weak and slow, her respiration strained.

  The rational part of me knows that there is a limit to what I can do. I can put as much sunlight as possible into her with the mirrors and dribble water down her throat to keep her hydrated. I can peel off her grimy clothes and put her into one of Danielle’s clean chemises. And that is all. I will do what I can, and she will either die as Danielle did, or she will live. But a small, irrational part of my mind refuses to accept this simple truth. She will live, I think. I will save her. I must save her.

  I have spent so many years learning to smother that voice. Hope is dangerous. Hope causes mistakes. It wounds. It is a weakness, but the voice grows louder and louder inside of me.

  I will save her. I must save her.

  My efforts are complicated by Tammy. Every moment is critical for Maya, but Tammy constantly requires my attention. She needs to be changed. She is hungry. She wants sip sip. She wanders to the far end of the house where I cannot see her.

  I try to encourage Tammy to watch cartoons in the living room, but I discover that her attention span is severely wanting. My prior research indicated this, but the reality is more difficult to manage than I imagined. An hour after we return to the house, as I adjust the Prism, Tammy creeps into the room to watch. Then, without reason, she runs up to the bed and tries to scramble on.

  “No!” I say to her sharply.

  Tammy’s lower lip trembles, and then she runs out of the room. I watch her go, calculating all the ways she might accidentally injure herself without my supervision. I want to go after her, but the chances of injury are low. Maya’s life is ebbing out of her. I need to stay here and continue adjusting the Prism.

  Two hours later, I feel it is safe to take a break. The last of the day’s sunlight is reflecting in the mirrors, and I’ve managed to get two cups of filtered water into Maya. I begin preparing spaghetti for Tammy. As the water boils, I wonder if the meal is nutritionally sufficient for her. Too many carbohydrates? Should I add a bowl of carrots? Tammy doesn’t like carrots, I remind myself. What else doesn’t she like? I will need to start a list. How much television should I allow her watch?

  For one long moment as I stand over the pot of boiling water, the box of pasta in my hand, I feel irretrievably lost. I close my eyes and wish Danielle were here. She wouldn’t know how to raise a daughter any better than I would…but at least we could flail together.

  I shake the pasta into the water.

  When the meal is ready, I call to Tammy and she doesn’t come. I find her in her room surrounded by all of her new toys. She ignores me when I tell her that dinner is ready. I move uncertainly to pick her up, and she screams and crawls under the bed.

  Danielle has been gone only a day, and I am already failing at this new mission. I sit on the floor of the bedroom, back against the wall, and wait. This, at least, I know how to do. My mind wanders. What else I can do for Maya? Where is Gabe? How could he allow Maya to become infected?

  Then, gradually, I think of the little girl hiding under the bed.

  “Maya, your aunt, she says I scowl too much,” I say out loud. “Maybe I scared you. I didn’t mean to. I just…I just had to prioritize. You wanted to play, and Maya was dying, but you couldn’t have understood that.” I take a breath.

  “Everything has changed for you,” I say. “Mazy was the only mother you knew, and she’s gone. So are her sons. Were they your friends? Even if they weren’t, they were familiar, right? Even though you’ve got lots of new toys and a new blanket, it’s still a strange place, and…” I stop here as the thought forms. “…And I haven’t been very nice, have I?”

  For another twenty minutes I wait, I hope, but she doesn’t come out. I admire her perseverance.

  “I have to help your aunt now,” I say to her softly.

  The night feels very, very long. There is no sunlight to give Maya. No energy to help her body fight the infection. If she dies, it will probably be in these silent hours. All I can do is keep vigil. An hour rolls by. From the doorway, I hear a noise. Big, blue eyes peer at me.

  I feel more confident now. I stand up from the chair placed near Maya’s bed and turn. Tammy takes slow steps toward me, lip trembling. I smell it right away. She needs a diaper change. I reach to pick her up, and she lays docile in my arms. I change her diaper first, then heat up the pasta. I let her eat it with her hands. There is no fight left in me today. Then I run the water for the bath, and she doesn’t fight me as I lower her into the warm water. She even giggles while I shampoo her hair and splashes around, chattering about a mermaid named Ariel.

  I am careful as I brush out her wet hair with a little pink hairbrush. She sits in my lap, and I feel the warmth of her body, the weight of her, and all the squirms and squiggles. It amazes me again and again that Danielle and I could have created such a perfect thing; that my DNA is part of her blueprint; that she will keep growing, and one day she will be able to speak to me in fluid sentences and have her own, distinct personhood.

  She starts nodding off as I wrap a big, warm towel around her small body and carry her to the guest bedroom.

  “Jawspah,” she calls sleepily as I move her round arms and legs into her purple pajamas. I find the horse in the living room and bring it to her.

  “Goodnight,” I tell my fussy, confusing, beautiful daughter.

  “No,” she says. “Taywan, stay.”

  “You want me to stay?” I ask, surprised. Warmed.

  She just nods and buries her face in the horse. I sit on the edge of the bed. She looks so small, just a tiny little bump in the big, big bed. In five minutes, her breathing is slow and heavy. I study her face, trying to find the parts that are me and the parts that are Danielle, but somehow it all just looks like Tammy, like a brand new person.