Roxy was a crazy driver.

  She’d never met a hill, snowbank, stream, or boulder that she didn’t love to drive straight over or through. There was no speed too fast, no slope too steep. Often, when he gripped the dashboard and closed his eyes and accepted that death comes to all people, she’d let out a loud whooping cry and then laugh even as the truck bounced or swerved or tilted precariously. At least she had the decency to act embarrassed after such episodes.

  “When are you going to let me have a turn?” he asked for the thousandth time. Although he’d grown to love their nightly fireside visits—sitting in peaceful silence or venting about the past—he’d yet to feel likewise about her time “behind the wheel,” as she called it.

  “Never, son. And stop asking. This is my truck.”

  He’d ask again tomorrow.

  They were driving down a long road, cracked and full of holes, straight as the shaft of a rifle. But it was drivable, unlike a lot of the other roads they’d come across. This usually didn’t matter to Roxy, who thought the answer to such things was to drive faster and hope for the best. The Orphan had considered himself one of the bravest people in the world after all the training he’d been through, but his companion on this west-bound journey tested his courage each and every day.

  “Could we at least stop and take a piss?” His bladder was like a rain-catch about to burst from weight. “I might throw up, too, just for good measure. It’s a miracle how you can swerve so much on a perfectly straight road.”

  “Alright, alright.” She slammed on the brakes and the truck screeched to a stop. His bladder almost gave up but he held it back. He quickly opened the door, jumped out, and did his business only a few feet into the scrub brush, no time for proprieties. Then he took a moment to enjoy the scenery—miles and miles of sparse scrubland and hills and valleys, the faint outline of mountains in the distance, a jagged shadow of gray against the deep blue of the cloudless sky.

  He had changed as they’d been driving across the country. As they stopped each night and ate a simple meal cooked on a simple fire. As they’d talked and talked—he more than her, perhaps the most shocking development of all. About the Remnant Nation’s brutal policy of killing, burning any and all those infected. About being orphaned. About being an Orphan. About training, about working, about manning the fortress wall, about killing of his own. And he told her about Kit, the boy he’d saved. Perhaps that had been the actual moment the transformation had begun. Who the hell knew.

  He’d changed in ways he didn’t know a person could change. Sometimes he thought back to how terse and tightly wound of a human being he’d been before his escape from the Remnant Nation. In many ways he’d barely resembled a human being—at least compared to what he saw in Roxy. Where she was full of life and kindness and humor, he’d been like a dried-up turd in an old bucket. Something no one wanted, or wanted to be around. He had to be that way, he’d been raised and trained to be that way.

  But no longer. He never wanted to lose his toughness, his hardness, his skills as a living weapon. However, Roxy had introduced him to an entirely new world, both literally and figuratively. As they crossed the wide-open spaces of mountains, deserts, and grasslands, he started to realize that it was okay, every once in a damn while, to feel some joy.

  “Boo.” A tap on his shoulder.

  She always tried this, but it was one of the many ways in which he hadn’t changed.

  “Do you really think I didn’t hear you sneaking up behind me?” he asked without turning around. “I’m better trained than that. Also, sometimes you’re really creepy. I’m trying to have a private moment, here.”

  She stepped up beside him. “It really is a sight, isn’t it? I’m sure glad you forced me to come on this trip.” She always tried that, as well. Being funny. “It’s been one of the best times of my life.”

  “Yeah . . .” He faltered a bit, the brightness of the day dimming. This happened, sometimes. A lot, actually. Just when he was thinking about how much he’d changed, the darkness rolled in and tried to correct him. He never knew what might trigger it, but he felt it, now. A harsh thumping in his head and heart. A brutal beat to his pulse. Anger. For the smallest of moments he had the urge to push Roxy to the ground and steal her truck, take back his true nature, stop trusting her, assume she was the enemy. He didn’t want to laugh ever again.

  “Minho?”

  He looked at her. It took a mighty effort to keep his face still, his hands at his sides, his breathing steady. “Tell me about your husband again.”

  She answered with a genuine smile. “He was a hard worker. He was kind. He was hilarious. He taught me how to cook but never expected me to do it. He loved roaming the woods, teaching me about plants, mushrooms, animals. He loved learning from me, too. We built that house together, you know. Yes, of course you know. He was a wonderful man, and I miss him every day.”

  Minho nodded, breathed. “Someday I want to be like him.”

  “You’re well on your way, almost there. But you’ll never quite make it. Almost is good enough.” She always threw in a little grandma sass, just the right amount. She paused. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah. Let’s go.” He turned from her and walked toward the truck. It was all he could manage right then, and although she couldn’t possibly understand, this was a victory. It was another beginning.

  The next day, they came upon a river.

  It was rare for him to dream these days. Usually, after a long day of marching beside Sadina, the Gentle Giant, and Letti, he collapsed into the pathetic excuse for a sleeping bag inside the pathetic excuse for a tent and fell asleep within seconds. A deep sleep. A blissful sleep where nothing happened, nothing at all. The only drawback to that was often it seemed that Letti was waking him up as soon as his head hit the pathetic excuse for a pillow—an old blanket wrapped with twine.

  But tonight, he dreamed.

  Nothing fancy. Just glimpses of his life on the island, when things had been good and happy. When his parents and sister had been alive and well. When his biggest worries were completing his chores in their yurt and convincing Captain Sparks to give him time in the Forge in the days before Isaac became an official apprentice. He dreamed of his mom, fixing a leak in their roof and swearing no less than forty times. His dad, arguing with a neighbor about the recent shift in ocean currents and what that meant for the weather and upcoming harvest.

  And then, the day. The accident. The world twisting inside-out.

  It had been raining. Raining hard. Sheets of it. Luckily it was several days before the planting that year or else a lot of it would’ve been washed away. Rain, rain, and then more rain.

  He could hear it in his dreams.

  Gushes of water. Cascades of water. Thousands of quarts of water rushing over other thousands of quarts of water. His eyes opened. The dream was over. And yet the sounds were still there, a roar of water upon water upon water. The simple word itself couldn’t explain the sheer magnificent volume of it.

  The river.

  He was only hearing the river.

  He sat up, surprised that for once he’d awakened without Letti and her annoying, lilting voice singing “good morning” over and over, sounding like a pissed-off seagull. Weird that the same woman who did that had also told them about the “Evolution,” about how the Flare had mutated into several variants, and that some had the potential to create a human race far more advanced. Or kill every last person on earth. Whatever she said, it usually ended in a ramble that made little sense to Isaac.

  For all that, she tried her best to act like all was well in the world, like they were a happy family enjoying the trip of a lifetime. But it did no good. Despite all their pretending, Letti and Timon found plenty of times to remind him and Sadina of the deepening threat if they tried to run. What had been done to Kletter could be done to anyone—that was Timon’s favorite thing to say, although Isaac often wondered if he actually meant it. Both of them were hard to read for certain.

  But he and Sadina had decided to bide their time, despite the days turning into weeks, the march north and east relentless and hard. They knew their friends were still on the trail, just a few days behind. It made no sense, and was one of the most bizarre things Isaac had ever experienced. The whole situation was like a dark secret that everyone knew but refused to talk about. What game was Letti playing? Why couldn’t they just let them catch up and keep moving, safety in numbers? But it had been made crystal clear: that wasn’t an option.

  Isaac crawled through the loose flap of the ancient, tattered tent that he shared with Sadina. Timon was nearby, building a fire to cook breakfast. The man seemed to never, ever sleep. He watched over his captives until they were asleep, and he was always waiting for them when they awoke in the mornings. Every once in a while, Isaac got up in the middle of the night to take a piss, only to come back and see Timon peeking out of his own tent with his ugly mug of a face. Watching. Always watching.

  “All we’ve got is the last of the bacon that we hoofed in,” the Gentle Giant said, practically shouting to be heard over the roar of the river. They’d camped less than thirty meters from its west bank. “We really need to catch some bigger game today. I’m sick of rabbits and squirrels, don’t know about you. I’ve seen wild pigs out in these parts. You up for it?”

  “Yeah, sure, whatever,” Isaac replied. It was conversations like this that made their situation seem so absurd. Everything was normal, no tension to speak of, almost always. And yet that threat hung over them, like a mist you could barely sense, almost felt more than seen.

  Sadina came out, bleary-eyed, quiet. Then Letti suddenly appeared from the direction of the river, holding a length of twine with at least six large trout strung up. Of course she’d been up before them. Of course she’d been fishing and managed to catch enough to feed them a huge breakfast.

  What in the world is my life? Isaac thought. Stuck with a tyrant woman who fishes one second, talks about evolution and extinction the next. But he wouldn’t be complaining. The prospect of fire-cooked trout made his mouth water. And made him think of home. Again.

  Timon looked at his partner in awe. “Letti, you are a walking miracle.”

  She handed the haul—a couple of the poor creatures still flopping and bopping—over to Timon. “I catch, you cook. At least for today.”

  “I wouldn’t trust you to do it, anyway. Give me a half hour.”

  Isaac didn’t know if he could stand the wait.

  Although the savory smell and sizzling flesh of the slowly grilled trout almost drove Isaac crazy with hunger, it was finally worth the wait when they all dug in. The skin and meat were fiery hot to the touch and it was a delicate dance indeed to devour the fish as quickly as your stomach begged for it without winning severe burns on your fingers, lips, and tongue. The wait had been worth it. The burns had been worth it. The inevitable upset stomach and unpleasant after-works of such a thing . . . yes, worth it.

  “I think I ate more than you,” Sadina said, staring at him with puffy eyes, as if fish juice had somehow made it through her system and found itself all the way up there, filling her head.

  “If you did,” he replied, “you stole it from me. Letti dished it out fair and square.”

  “Sorry, kid. She likes me more and gave me more. It’s fitting since I carry twice the stuff you do. A woman needs her strength.”

  “So does a man,” he whimpered, really wishing he could have one extra piece of that succulent, salty, tangy little beast of the river.

  Sadina sat up. “Oh?” She looked around the camp, searching left and right and up and down. “Have you seen a man somewhere? Let me know right away and I’ll feed him myself.”

  “That’s so funny I forgot to laugh.”

  She really did laugh. “Thank you for proving my point. I think my cousin said that phrase last time she was at our yurt for Winterfest. Oh, she’s three, by the way.”

  Isaac wasn’t really in the mood for the banter, and Sadina realized that as soon as he’d formed the thought. Using her uncanny ability to switch moods, she scooted over to sit close to him. She gently pressed a generous chunk of steaming fish through his lips. He chewed and the ecstasy of taste filled him up. Meanwhile, Sadina pulled him into a hug, holding him tightly against her.

  She whispered into his ear. “I know you, Isaac. I know what’s got you down.”

  “You do?” He asked it even though he knew the answer. She did.

  “Did you dream about them? That day?”

  He nodded.

  After another hard squeeze of a hug, she pulled back and stood up, now looking down on him. “We need to do this, Isaac. We need to talk about it. You need to tell your story, out loud, to others. Right now. Tell it to me, tell it to Timon, tell it to Letti. We know they care about us even though they try to act all tough and rough sometimes. We’re in this together and we all know it. So . . .” She reached down and grabbed his hand, then pulled him off the ground to stand close to her. Another hug, another whisper in his ear.

  “Will you do this? Please? It’s for you, I promise it’s for you. But it’s also for me. If my mom taught me anything, it’s that we can’t bottle stuff up. We have to talk about it, talk through it. Let others share your burden. Cheesy? Maybe. But not a debate. This has to happen.”

  Through all that extrapolating, he wasn’t even sure at first what she meant. Talking? With her, with them, with everyone? Give a speech? About what for Flare’s sake? But finally he thought he understood. Sadina had wanted him to do this for a long time and he’d always clammed up or run away. Both, usually.

  But you know what, he thought. Screw it. She’s right and she knows she’s right, the former as annoying as the latter.

  “Okay,” he said. “Fine. I’m ready to talk about it. Even with Letti and her big bouncy ball of a giant. The fire’s not dead, yet—let’s gather ’round shall we?” Sadina rolled her eyes at his formal manner.

  Throughout this long path to making a decision, Timon and Letti had stood back, kinda watching with interest, maybe curiosity. They couldn’t know what Isaac and Sadina were talking about, but surely they wanted to.

  “Come on, then,” Isaac said.

  A minute or so passed as everyone got settled, four people around a fire, everyone able to see everyone else. The fire spat and crackled, slowly dying by unleashing waves of heat from the coals and white-hot ash.

  “It was my fault,” Isaac began.

  Sadina, as predictable as ever, as loving as ever, started to protest but he quieted her with a look.

  “You want me to tell the story or you want me to lie? It’s my fault. That’s how I feel. Sometimes. The tiny rational part of my brain knows it’s not true, but the big chunk of dummy brain can’t stop torturing me with it. You’re always preaching that it helps to say things out loud. Well, there ya go.”

  “What happened?” Letti asked. She seemed genuine enough.

  “Back on the island, we’d get some hellbent rainstorms a few times a year. This one was even worse than usual. It was like some kind of water-magnet had picked up the entire ocean then dropped it on us. That’s when I made the worst decision of my life. I thought it’d be fun to be on the beach, soaked by the storm, watching the giant waves come in. Dummy brain, big, all that.”

  His eyes met Timon’s, who then quickly looked down at the smoldering ashes. Something’s not right about these people, Isaac thought. They care about us way more than they let on.

  “Then?” Sadina prodded.

  He didn’t know how long he’d been quiet. “Then . . . well . . . I got hit by the biggest wave I ever saw and it grabbed me by the damn ankles like it had hands and swept me out to sea. I don’t know how my mom and dad knew. But they came running.”

  “They’re your parents,” Letti said, her voice a little haunted, as if by her own memories. “Parents know when their child is in danger.”

  “Yeah, well, my sister came with them,” he mumbled. “What about her?”

  It was a cruel thing to say, and she did bristle a little. Just enough to make him feel sorry.

  He sighed, completely aware that he was deflecting the pain like usual. And was that a bad thing? He decided it wasn’t.

  “Look, I know I was supposed to tell this big story but there’s not much to tell. You think I was taking notes out there? Getting beat to hell by waves twice as tall as Timon the Gentle Giant, here? I hardly remember anything. I was choking on salt water and spitting and trying to breathe. I was drowning. That’s what I was doing. Drowning. And I remember hearing my dad’s voice, screaming, absolutely screaming my name. I never heard my mom or sister, though.”

  That got him. That got him, good. His chest hitched with an unexpected sob and then the cries poured out of him like the rain that day. Sadina was there in a flash, pulling him close. He grabbed on to her, embarrassed but thankful she was there.

  After a few minutes, he’d had enough. He gently released himself from Sadina and stood up. “The rest is easy enough to figure out.”

  He walked over to his tent and started breaking it down. “Come on, I need to get out of here.” He’d never worked so furiously or gotten it done so quickly. He went to the next task, and then the next. They allowed him to do it, mostly by himself. Sadina looked sad, but Timon was even more distressed, as if he’d been the one to lose his family in one day. Maybe he had.

  Twenty minutes later, the camp was cleaned up and ready to go. Isaac was absolutely drenched in sweat, the straps of his backpack cinched tight. But he did feel better.

  “Let’s go,” he said, already walking.

  They marched north, the river to their right, its roar now a constant reminder.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The Bridge’s Skeleton

  Tonight, she would reveal herself to them.

  They deserved to know; more importantly, it would be the last piece of the puzzle to ensure their commitment to her. Their devotion. Their worship. After all the secret meetings, after all the planning and scheming, after all the exchanges of promises and riches, they were already tied to her like the lashings of a ship. After tonight, the lashings would turn to iron chains, never to be removed.