I watched Rebecca as closely as I could. Something told me not to leave her alone, and every time she branched from the group, I was there, keeping her company. If she noticed what I was doing, she didn’t say anything about it.
Jack and a few of the others from Chicago rallied in the back. Their whispering did not go unnoticed. More than once when I neared, their conversations ended abruptly. I worried they didn’t mean to keep their word—that they’d attempt to take control, or simply disappear, and after the way we’d been received by the survivors, we couldn’t risk more dissension. The silence frayed my nerves. Today’s path had been quiet, but there was a prickling at the base of my neck. It felt like we were being watched.
In the early afternoon the bright scent of oranges drew us into an abandoned grove. The trees were weighed down with fruit, and below on the grass were the rotting remains of those that had fallen.
We weren’t the only tenants. Squirrels, mice, deer, and cats fled when we approached. In the sky, hawks circled. Hunters, watching from above.
Chase had spent the morning scouting our path, but found me once we stopped. As he approached, I busied myself picking oranges, still keeping one eye on Rebecca across the lane, dozing beneath a tree. In our search I’d been able to distract myself from what had happened last night with Rat, and what had happened before in the woods. But now those things hung between us, heavy and impossible to ignore.
He stood just beyond the reach of the tree, fiddling with something in his hand, as if waiting for me to stop. When I did, he took a quick breath, like he was about to dive into cold water, then stepped beneath the shade, having to adjust his position until he found a place he could stand without hitting his head on the branches.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“For which part?” I hadn’t meant to be snide, but the words still came out that way. When he slumped I placed the oranges I’d gathered at my feet and wiped the juice off my hands onto my jeans.
“The part where I was an idiot,” he said, clearing his throat. “I don’t want to scare you. Ever.”
He opened his hand, and in his palm was a yellow flower—like a rose, but smaller. When I looked at it, he unfurled my fist and placed it within.
I prodded the tender petals—those that had survived his grasp. Most were bent or torn, but it was still beautiful. Something fluttered inside when I imagined him finding it and carrying it for me.
“I think I might be broken.” He didn’t look up.
I moved closer, feeling his sadness wash over me.
“We’re all broken,” I said. “We just have to put each other back together.”
My loose fist holding the flower came to rest in the center of his chest, locked between us. He leaned down, his forehead touching mine. His eyes closed.
“What if I’m too far gone?”
“Then I’ll find you,” I said. “And I’ll bring you back.”
HE told me about the first time he’d had to steal food, and the days after Jesse had left him in the wreckage. Stories from the War. At first he didn’t release my hand, and eyed me cautiously, waiting for some sign to stop, but after a while the words began flowing more freely, and as we split an orange he told me funny things, too, about the doomsday prophesiers and the all-night card games he’d play with the other kids at the Red Cross Camps. Before long, we’d polished off another orange, and then a third. We were laughing when Sean ducked under the branches. I shot to my feet, realizing I’d lost track of the time.
“Becca—have you seen her?” Sean’s hair spiked in all different directions, as though he’d been pulling on it.
I stepped out from beneath the boughs into the alley between the rows of trees, dread balling in my stomach. Rebecca had been sleeping here just minutes ago, but in my distraction she’d managed to disappear. From the look on Sean’s face I didn’t have to ask what he was thinking; I wasn’t the only one who’d gotten a bad feeling from her stunt on the bridge.
“She can’t be too far,” Chase said. “She was just here a few minutes ago.” It comforted me that he’d been watching her as well.
Sean threw back his head and groaned.
We split up, each taking a different direction through the grove. Behind me, I could still hear the others in our group, but the deeper I headed into the trees, the more muffled their voices became. Soon, there was no more than the cry of the birds and the crunching of the twigs and fallen leaves beneath my feet.
“Rebecca?”
A sudden movement to my left startled me. I twisted, shoes slipping on a piece of black, rotten fruit, and I caught my balance on a low-hanging branch. When I looked again, there was nothing but the gray-brown base of the tree, and a metal crutch leaning against it.
“Rebecca?” My words were muffled by the thick cover. I grabbed the single brace, searching for any sign of her.
A noise from behind had me spinning around, and I found myself looking at a boy whose face was streaked with mud and half hidden behind a wild brown nest of hair. His clothing was odd: he wore no shirt or shoes, and around his hips hung a pleated skirt that stopped just above his bony knees. He wasn’t one of the survivors; I had no idea where he’d come from.
“Hello,” I said.
He didn’t respond. He stared at me, eyes too round, as though he was forcing them open as wide as he could.
“How old are you?” It was a stupid question, and I wasn’t sure why I asked.
He held out his hands, making the number seven. My brows pulled together. I would have pegged him at twelve, at least.
“Where is your family?” I asked.
His eyes roamed lower, to Rebecca’s silver brace, still in my grip. I stood it up immediately, realizing it probably looked like I was preparing to swing it at him.
“It’s my friend’s. Have you seen her?” I touched my hair. “She has blond, yellow hair. She’s about my height.”
He turned, and began to run.
“Hey!” I took off after him, deeper into the trees. He was sure-footed in this terrain and gained ground quickly. Finally, I stopped, frustration boiling inside of me. There had been a flicker of recognition in his face when I’d asked about Rebecca, I hadn’t made that up.
A branch broke behind me and I turned, a short yelp of surprise bursting from my throat as two more boys—shirtless and smeared with mud like the other one—threw something at me. Trying to block whatever it was, I released the crutch and within seconds my arms and torso were ensnared. When I jerked back, they yanked forward, and I collapsed in a heap.
They’d caught me in a net like I was some kind of animal. It twisted around my legs; the harder I struggled, the tighter the string cut into my neck and face.
“What are you doing?” I shrieked. “Let me go!”
The two boys gathered the end of the net over their shoulders, turned away, and proceeded to drag me over the bumpy ground. The smell of rot and wet soil filled my nostrils as I flipped and my face came in contact with the earth. Through squinting eyes I looked up and saw the boy I’d been chasing keeping pace beside us. He grinned at me with yellow, crooked teeth. I swung to try to kick him, but only managed to flip myself over again.
“Help!” I shouted. “Help!”
The two boys pulling me stopped. They were older, maybe thirteen, and emaciated. Their ribs rose from the skin, leaving a hollow well where their bellies belonged. They both wore the same stained beige pants, shredded at the ends, and much too tight. An assortment of feathers were tied in their hair.