Timon. That was it.

  “You drugged us,” Isaac said. “Put a bag over my head and dragged me out of a house. Doesn’t seem the best way to start a friendship.”

  “That’s exactly what I said!” Sadina shouted. Then she laughed, and Isaac wondered if she was still drugged.

  The woman named Letti eased herself into a sitting position then pulled a small, round container out of her front pocket. She snapped off the lid and pulled out a white pill, offering it to Isaac with a smile.

  He raised his eyebrows. “Really? You like me better when I’m knocked out?”

  “It’s a mint. Timon said you needed a mint. I agree with his opinion. You need a mint.”

  Isaac glanced over at Sadina, who said, “I think you’re fine. If they wanted to kill us we’d have been dead by now.”

  He took the white pill, sniffed it, smelled peppermint. “Sorry, lady, but where we come from we don’t have fancy white pills for bad breath.” He threw it into the darkest corner of the room. “Maybe just move back a few feet if you can’t handle it.”

  She scooted back a full pace from him, her expression one of amusement.

  “Am I dreaming?” he asked. “This is not the way I expected it to go the first time I was ever kidnapped by somebody. What the hell is going on?”

  “We’re not your enemies,” Letti answered. “You have absolutely no reason to be scared of us. You’ll notice you’re not tied up or anything. And, like your friend said, it would’ve been a lot easier to kill you than bring you here. You’d still be in that house where you met Timon, in fact. Kind of like Kletter.”

  “Kletter? What’d you do to Kletter?” He had a vague memory of a woman saying, “She’s gone” after the coarse bag had been slipped over his head.

  Letti didn’t answer right away, her eyes drifting toward the floor.

  “They killed her,” Sadina said. “Slit her throat judging by the gurgle sound I heard right next to me.”

  “Kletter is a very bad person.” This came from Timon’s rolling thunder of a voice, now sitting with his back against the wall near Sadina. “She’s dedicated her life to bringing down the Godhead, and she’d use you up like a roll of toilet paper to get her way. The woman is vicious and doesn’t know the meaning of the word compromise.”

  “Don’t you mean was?” Isaac asked. “She was a very bad person?”

  Timon didn’t appear ashamed. “Yes, that’s exactly what I meant. We weren’t going to kill her, until she came barreling into that house. Listen . . .” The man leaned forward, focusing his intense gaze on Isaac. “We had to save you from her. We had to stop her. This wasn’t a situation where we could do our best and see what happens. There was only one acceptable path, and she got in the way at the wrong time. I’m sorry she manipulated you, I’m sorry she killed those people on the boat, but I’m not sorry she’s dead.”

  Sadina stood up, then sat back down, too frustrated to sit still but with nowhere to go. This eased Isaac a bit—they weren’t restrained, and neither of their captors moved a muscle when Sadina got up from the chair. Maybe they had a chance to escape, or would have that chance soon.

  “You really think you’re doing the right thing, don’t you?” Isaac said. “You think you’re so right that Sadina and I are going to go along without being forced.”

  “That’s exactly spot on,” Letti said. “But don’t you want to hear what the thing is?”

  Isaac took a second to look at each person in the room. “Not really. At least one of you is a murderer and both of you are kidnappers. Can we go, now?”

  Timon stood up. It seemed like he kept standing up and standing up for a full five minutes because he was so tall and bulky. He groaned a time or two like a grandpa getting out of bed. He walked over to where Isaac still sat on the ground, standing in front of the oil lamp like a solar eclipse, his face masked in shadow.

  “Do we really have to get tough?” the man asked. “Do we really need to be the bad guys, here, and tie you up and keep drugging you and drag you all the way to Alaska? Is that what you want? Because we don’t wanna, but we will. You understand me? We will.” He folded his giant arms to emphasize the point.

  “Alaska?” Sadina said. “You didn’t say anything about Alaska. Isn’t that kinda far from here?”

  Letti answered with one word. “Very.”

  “Can someone just tell me what’s going on?” Isaac asked. “Mr. Timon, sir, I don’t really want you to beat me up or drag me in a sack again, but I’d at least like to know why you want to take me and my friend all the way to Alaska. I’ve looked at maps, before, you know.”

  Timon grumbled something under his breath and went back to his place by the wall. He seemed like someone who was tired of dealing with his own kids and had given up. When he plopped back to the floor the house shook as if struck by an earthquake.

  “Listen to me,” Letti said. Isaac returned his attention to her—she seemed nice and was a lot smaller than her partner. “Alaska is our home. It was one of the most stable places after the sun flares and near the south coast is a huge, functional, safe city. A lot of that we owe to the Godhead. They’ve saved us from the worst of the apocalypse this world went through, and we are sworn to our last drops of blood to serve them. And they need you. Well, more specifically, they need to keep you from Kletter’s people.” She sighed in frustration and rubbed her forehead with both hands. “It’s a very long story.”

  “You’re caught up,” Sadina said. “I woke up a half hour before you and they talked the entire time and I still don’t know anything.”

  Letti stood up and paced the room for a few seconds then stopped at a point where she could easily look at both Isaac and Sadina. “You’re both smart alecks but I guess that’s the way with young people, isn’t it?”

  She didn’t sound angry at all, just defeated. The whole situation had taken on an air of absurdity to Isaac.

  “Why don’t you start from the beginning,” he said. “That’s what my . . . my dad used to say. We’re not going to try anything with Timon the Gentle Giant sitting over there.”

  Timon grumbled under his breath again. Oddly enough, Isaac didn’t feel threatened by the man despite his size. Maybe it was the drugs still coursing through his system.

  “He’s right,” Sadina added. “Just tell us. Tell us. And if it sounds halfway promising we’ll go find our friends and go with you to Alaska and this wonderful city full of gods without having to be dragged there.”

  Isaac perked up at that, not realizing that was a viable option at the moment. But he stayed quiet—he didn’t want to impede the chance of hearing the story behind these two strange people.

  Letti nodded her head a few times, as if considering Sadina’s words. Then she started talking.

  “The Evolution began thirty years ago . . .”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Crossing Paths

  The Orphan walked.

  He didn’t know a human could walk this much without his feet or legs falling off, or both. He didn’t know a human could be so hot and so cold within the same day, or that a human could be hungry and thirsty enough that he considered devouring one of his own hands for the meat and blood. But he knew, now. Every inch of him wanted to go back to his people—to the monotony, the food, the schedule, the safety. He missed his shifts atop the wall, searching the horizon for intruders that rarely came. Even all the sanctimonious metaphors. He missed saving kids from savage beatings.

  He wondered, often, about the boy. About Kit. It was very possible that Minho had made life worse for him, that maybe dying would’ve been the merciful route. But he avoided those lines of thought, imagining instead that Kit would grow up and do something great. Someday. Yes, definitely. Someday.

  Sleet and rain had turned into sunshine and heat. He’d been across a vast plain, through a dusty canyon, up and down a mountain. He’d eaten berries, leaves, the remains of a recently deceased deer, joining the birds and the rats in their feast. It had been quite the task to keep it down, to keep it from coming back up—but then what a waste. After such a degrading, disgusting meal, he didn’t want it to be for naught. He’d maintained, eaten more, accepted the nourishment.

  Water had finally arrived, in the form of creeks and rivers that had been sparse the first couple of days. Whenever he quenched his thirst, slaked by the cool glory of natural streams or pools, it only served to remind him how hungry he was. There’d been only one dead deer in his week of wandering the wilderness. Walking the wilderness. However, contrary to the expectations of the Grief Bearers and acolytes back home, he walked in one direction without turning back.

  West. To the ocean, to the shore. Then he’d head north, knowing there’d be no stray path from that point on. The sea to the left, land to the right, up and up until you run into the place called Alaska.

  Home of the Godhead.

  Being an Orphan had trained him to be patient and tough. The journey might take months for all he knew. Probably would, in fact. He didn’t fear it. He feared nothing.

  A building, up ahead.

  This made him stop. Unsurprisingly, he’d come across few signs of civilization so far, and those obviously abandoned for years if not decades. Burnt-out vehicles, weed-infested farms, the hulk of slouching towers and rusted machinery, most of them a grand mystery as to their original purpose. The western part of the country was known for its vast open spaces, no area more than the one through which he’d been slogging. He’d yet to see another person, living or dead, not even so much as a skeleton.

  And now, this building. A house. Lived in, current, no sign of decay or overgrown vegetation.

  The door nearest him opened.

  A woman came out.

  This woman walked toward him, no weapon in her hands. He didn’t know what to do but felt no fear. He could kill her in the time it took her to sneeze if he had to. As she approached, he saw that she was middle-aged, average in every way except for the smile that brightened her face in a way he’d rarely seen back in the Remnant Nation.

  She stopped. She spoke.

  “Hungry?”

  She had a plan, now she needed help.

  Her plan was crazy, so she needed crazy help. That’s why, with hair pinned up, wig in place, yellow robes of the pilgrims pulled over her shoulders—big and frumpy, scratchy—face dirtied, eyes hidden with archaic glasses, she found herself walking the backways and alleys of the city. She wandered toward the docks and the dying pools, the warehouses and the mills. Where the people were. The most devout of them all.

  It had been many years since she’d worn a disguise—why worry about safety when you have an entire squad of Evolutionary Guards constantly at your side, ready to inflict harm without so much as a sniff. And why not enjoy the prestige of being a God, especially after she’d worked so hard for so many years to gain such a divine status. All in all, she’d had a good run and always knew, deep down, that things would have to change someday. Haven’t they always?

  She would be the greatest of them all, a phrase from a book she’d once read.

  And not just for herself.

  She was ambitious, power-hungry, vicious when needed. But she also cared about the world and believed with utter certainty that her vision for the future was the best. Period. No matter how brutal a time it took to get there, it needed getting there. Evolution. It was all about Evolution, no going backward. She’d use the contents of the Box in the right way.

  Without guards, she should be afraid, and was. In some ways, her disguise could make things worse—a lone female wandering the dark streets at night. But her training in the Flaring discipline had prepared her well. It would have to be an entire mob if they wanted to take her down, and if all else failed, she’d reveal herself as the Goddess she was.

  Gas lights flickered on the street corners, tilting and swaying with the wind, like music come to life. The salty air smelled of a thousand revolting things—rotting fish, chemicals, charred remnants of the waste fires, sewage and trash and mold and mud. But with all of it combined, it wasn’t entirely unpleasant. It was the odor of thriving life.

  “Spare some buttons, ma’am?”

  She stopped and looked down at the man, huddled against the wall, swaddled in a pile of every possession he owned. The light scarce, she still saw that he was a filthy man, rags and bones as they say, but he had a kindness in his eyes, shining with yellow points of reflection from the nearest gas flame. The Godhead had done everything in their power to keep the people fed, busy, happy. Satisfied. And here was proof that even that couldn’t last forever. That had been falling apart for years, now.

  “Buttons, ma’am,” the poor wretch repeated. “Just give me the one, mayhaps, gods bless you for it.”

  She gave him two.

  He uttered thanks, as sincerely as she’d ever heard. She smiled but didn’t speak in return, honestly not knowing what to say. Perhaps it would be better for this man if . . .

  Hollowed.

  The word sprang to her mind as if loosed from a trapdoor. It seemed the new way of dealing with people like this, the awful . . . remnant of the situation having its own purpose, something to do with the pilgrims, with the pathways of the Maze, some kind of sacrificial ritual. The thought made her shudder as she walked away from the beggar, but she also did nothing to prevent such a possible future for the man. In the end, if nothing else, Alexandra was a pragmatist. Means to an end and all that.

  And so, she kept walking, through the dark and through the growing mist of fog, creeping in from the sea. Alleys and backways, lefts and rights, narrow straight-aheads. People passing by, people laughing, people crying, people begging.

  She came to a door.

  She knocked.

  A man with horns opened it.

  They’d banded together, then split into groups. Then banded together again.

  No sign of Isaac. No sign of Sadina.

  Jackie sat with Trish by a small campfire, a few others scattered around it in a circle, most of them asleep. The group had drifted away from the route that Kletter had been following, just enough to feel isolated in case someone came searching for them. No one could agree on what to do yet. Continue on, try to find the Villa that their guide had talked up so much? Keep searching for their friends? The only thing settled upon was to keep to themselves, avoid others until they knew more or discovered a clue, any clue.

  And so, here they were. A secluded place sunk between four squat buildings and surrounded by trees. A park of some sort.

  Trish was inconsolable.

  Jackie had been paired up with her during the searches, and felt a connection, seeing the burden of sadness and panic consume the poor girl. Jackie had been through something just like this only a few years ago. Turns out an island cut off from the rest of the scary world can have bad people, too. She tried not to think about the night her life had fallen apart, and instead put all her efforts into comforting Trish.

  “We’re going to find them,” she said, probably for the hundredth time.

  “Stop. Saying. That.” Trish hadn’t spoken for at least an hour, so this was progress. Words instead of sobs and cries of hysteria.

  Jackie reached out but then pulled her hand back. Trish didn’t like being touched right now, either. Not by anyone. She seemed to hate the consoling as much as what she was being consoled about.

  “Okay,” Jackie whispered. “I’ll shut up. As long as you shut up, too. We’re all sick of your boo-hooing. Let’s just get some sleep and start over tomorrow.” Maybe tough talk is more up her alley.

  Trish didn’t respond. She didn’t say anything. But her cries did grow silent. She lay herself down and curled into a ball, wet eyes focused on the dying flames of the fire.

  Jackie did the same but rolled over to face the other direction. She’d tried her best, and would try again in the morning. Nearby, Ms. Cowan—who’d been under control but crying for hours—and the other old folks had huddled together to discuss things, keeping their voices low. Jackie wasn’t having any of that—they were all east-siders and she was sick of them making the decisions.

  They looked up at her when she approached, arms folded to keep herself firm.

  “What’s going on?” she asked.

  Wilhelm, the gruff and grumpy one, and Alvarez, the gaunt and goofy one, both hardened their faces and appeared ready to tell her it was none of her high-falutin’ business, but she was rescued by Old Man Frypan. He was a good soul, and had been kind to her on the voyage even though they’d never met before the trip.

  “Come and have a sit-down with us,” the aged, gray, wrinkled man said. She accepted his offer and took a seat right next to him on the cool dirt. “There ya go. I bet you’re plenty worried about what we’re yappin’ about over here, huh?”

  She didn’t love the slight patronizing tone of his words, but she knew it came from a good place. When you’re older than the Flare, someone like her must seem like a toddler.

  “Curious, for sure,” she replied. “Come up with anything yet?”

  Old Man Frypan glanced at his compatriots, then back at her. “What do you think we should do?”

  More than a little surprised, she didn’t have an answer ready. But he waited, patient, his eyes—lit up by the fire—saying he truly wanted her opinion. She scrambled for something that didn’t sound idiotic, but finally settled on the words that felt right.

  “We have to go after them. Search for them. Find ’em, save ’em.”

  “Damn right, we do,” Old Man Frypan said, any trace of a smile having vanished from his face. “That’s the truth, the whole truth, and nothin’ but the truth, amen.”

  Ms. Cowan spoke next.

  “Then it’s settled.”

  The Orphan’s stomach was so full of food and water that he felt certain—so certain that he considered forcing an upchuck—that he was about to explode from the inside-out like an artillery suit packed in nails. He sat on a couch, leaning to the side, his head on a soft pillow, groaning every few seconds from the terrible episode of overeating. The kindly woman named Roxy sat on an overstuffed chair nearby, hands in her lap, smiling gently at him as if proud she’d made a meal so fantastic that it was about to kill a man.