Sea of Rust

^{Chapter 11011} Hell in the Madlands

The ships flew low, close to the ground, along the horizon, to make them harder to hit. As they drew closer, three swung off, each with drones of their own, most likely to hit us from all four sides. There was nowhere to run.

A cannon roared from atop the wall.

“Hold your fire!” shouted the Cheshire King from the battlements. “They’re not close enough yet! Reload and wait for my damn signal.”

Mercer snapped out of his trance at the sound of the boom, looking around, confused. “What the—?”

“Facets,” said Herbert. “Coming right our way.”

“How long was I out?”

“A while,” I said.

“Why didn’t you snap me out of it?”

“King’s orders. He’s happy to let us fry.”

“How are we getting out of here?” asked Herbert.

We all looked at the smoker. I shook my head. “There’s too many out there, and Rebekah’s the one they’re after. They’d run us down before we got a mile out. Best we hold up here, use the locals as cover.”

Herbert slid his spitter off the smoker, heaving its sling over his shoulder. “You know we’re going to die here.”

“We’re all dying now anyway. Here, there—doesn’t matter much anymore. But if we’re gonna die, we may as well give that bastard a show as we do.”

The bot with tank treads for legs rumbled through the middle of the camp, his engine growling, treads clanking, pulling an oversize red Radio Flyer wagon overflowing with guns and clips. Bots from all over the camp scrambled to it, grabbing pistols, rifles, roughhousers, clips, bandoliers loaded with shells. By the time Mercer and Two got to it, it was all but picked clean. Mercer reached in, pulling out a Russian-made long-range sniper rifle—not unlike the one he’d done me in with, if not the same model. He mindlessly grabbed a couple of clips while examining the workmanship of the rifle, smiling.

“This’ll do,” he said. “This’ll do just fine.”

Two sifted through the remaining weapons, finally settling on a minispitter—a shotgun-like weapon that kicked out plasma on a much smaller scale than a regular model. But as he drew it out, Herbert put his one good hand on Two’s, shaking his head.

“You need to stay with Rebekah,” said Herbert.

“I need to fight with you,” said Two.

“That’s not your job.”

“If she dies, this was all for nothing.”

“If she dies, we need you ticking to see that this was all for something.”

“I can’t just stand by and watch.”

“You can and you will. That’s your job. This here is mine.”

Two nodded, dropping the gun back into the wagon.

“Besides,” said Herbert, “you don’t even know how to use that thing.”

“You point and pull the trigger.”

“There’s a little more to it than that.” He turned to Rebekah. “Get in that hut over there. Don’t come out until one of us comes to get you.”

“What if no one comes?” asked Rebekah.

“If none of us come for you, it’s because you’re already dead.”

“Or you are.”

“Rebekah,” said Herbert. “If there’s one thing I know for certain it’s that I won’t die until I see this through. I die last.”

Rebekah nodded, then she and Two made their way silently into the ocher shed nearest the gate. Herbert pointed to one of the walkways. “Mercer, take position up there. You should be able to snipe targets both outside and in from there. Brittle, take position opposite him. We’ll create cross fire to clear a path to the smoker once we’ve cleared out enough facets. Doc, you need a gun.”

Doc shook his head, his red eye glowing. “Nope. I’ve never killed before, I don’t plan on starting now.”

“What do you mean you’ve never killed before? This isn’t negotiable.”

“Someone’s got to keep you guys standing.” He walked over to the wagon and dug out a number of clips. “Supplies and refit. And I’ll keep you ticking if need be. I’m no killer. And I’m most likely a terrible shot. If I’m going to die here, let me at least die with my dignity.”

Herbert mulled it over for a second. “Supplies and refit, then,” he said. “Happy hunting, everyone.” Then he sprinted off, making his way up the mud-brick steps to a platform to take his own position.

“FIRE!” boomed the king. And the cannons, they did roar, and the spitters, they did hiss, and the sky was set afire as two dozen guns went off at once. I ran for my position, grabbing a few pieces of stray scrap sheet metal along the way for camouflage. Once up top, I buried myself in a corner with a good view to the east, set up the sheet metal to look like a box, and trained my rifle on the approaching dropship.

It was long and wide, like a twenty-first-century transport chopper, without the blades—four VTOL jets mounted on the sides—painted desert brown with black streaks from the engine exhaust scarring the sides. It swung back and forth in the sky, balls of sizzling plasma missing it by inches, explosions from the cannonade shattering the earth beneath it.

Across the compound, Mercer raised his rifle, steadying it, swaying slowly as if in a light breeze. He pulled the trigger, the shot cracking in the lull between cannon shots.

The ship’s front-left engine burst, erupting in flame, the ship lurching to the side before trying to right itself, compensating with its remaining three engines. It dropped a good twenty feet, swinging upward only to slam headlong into direct fire.

The plasma tore through the hull like a knife through warm butter, melting the armor plating. The jets did the rest of the work, each pulling in a different direction, tearing the ship in two.

Facets poured out of the sides of the ship, dropping one by one in a tight formation, each curled into a ball, hitting the ground, rolling to their feet, running full sprint, having never for a second stopped moving.

Cannon fire exploded between two of them, blowing them to pieces.

These weren’t plastic men. Though the cannon had made easy work of two of them, they weren’t cheap, disposable troops. These were hardier, made of reinforced metal—not as resilient as Herbert, but tough enough that a plasma rifle might not do the trick with a single shot. They were still humanoid, their weapons attached to their arms so they couldn’t be dropped, their heads an array of advanced sensors. Pure military-grade fuck-you.

The first of the drones reached the camp, missiles hitting the cannons and spitter emplacements on the north wall. The mud brick exploded spectacularly, pieces of cannon turned into deadly shrapnel that cleaved a nearby bot in half.

As a drone swooped past, Herbert let loose a shot that all but disintegrated it midair, the few remaining pieces arcing down past the camp, sizzling to nothing as they hit the ground.

“First wave!” shouted the Cheshire King. “Prepare to repel all borders!” Then he held his hand out, another bot tossing him a battle-ax. There he stood, ax gripped tightly in both hands, giant white grin on his chest seeming even more sinister and deranged than ever.

A dozen facets charged the walls, plasma fire kicking up dirt around them. One caught three shots to the chest, another had its arm torn off and kept coming. Herbert let loose a shot, vaporizing another. The remaining facets hit the wall, springing up the embedded tires like they were rungs on a ladder.

I snapped off a few shots, cleaving the head off the nearest facet, but only winging another, not quite doing enough damage to slow it down.

The first facet made it over the wall, firing wildly at half a dozen nearby madkind.

A shot cracked from across the compound and the facet’s chest exploded out its back.

I looked over and saw Mercer, rifle raised to his eye. He winked at me with the other then fired again, taking a second facet’s head off at the neck as it emerged over the wall. The body tumbled to the ground, knocking a third facet off with it.

The facet hit the ground and I fired a few rounds into it as it stumbled back to its feet. It spun around in a sloppy pirouette, slamming face first into the dirt.

Then from an emplacement along the wall Murka emerged, arms held out like he was a triumphant hero. He clenched his fists and his arms expanded, transforming, guns almost instantly at the ready. His guns howled death, a loud stream of nonstop fire that sawed the climbing facets into pieces.

“This is our land!” he screamed. “It is not your land! I’ve got two big guns, and you ain’t got none. I’ll blow your head off, if you don’t fuck off! This land was made for only me!”

He was singing. Angry. Having the time of his life.

I still wanted to shoot the prick, but dammit if he wasn’t the only thing between me and this wave of facets.

Two more drones strafed the compound, unleashing missiles into a nearby smoker. The smoker exploded, showering the compound in flaming debris, filling it with heavy charcoal-colored smoke. The bot with treads caught a flaming piece to the back, setting him on fire at once. He wheeled around, screaming.

“Get it off! Get it off!” he yelled.

But there was no one to help him.

A dropship flew in low from the south, slowing down just enough to let loose its facets.

They dropped in, guns blazing, firing before they even hit the dirt.

Mercer’s rifle cracked repeatedly from across the way, facet after facet dropping from his precision fire. One bullet, one facet. Again and again and again.

Herbert fired the spitter at the backside of the passing dropship.

The back end at first melted, then exploded, the ship upending before plunging into the ground just outside the compound. The explosion shook the earth, knocking a few madkind from the walls, a piece of wreckage cutting a facet’s torso in half.

I unloaded my plasma rifle as quickly as I could into the facets inside the compound. They were firing in all directions, several shots taking the flaming tracked bot out piece by piece. A few shots rained on my emplacement, blistering the sheet metal and poking holes in it that were too close for comfort.

Along the walls, the remaining madkind fended off the last few facets of the latest wave.

Then came the thrum of the engines of another dropship.

The madkind regrouped, unleashing as much fire as they could into the approaching ship. Herbert threw me a sign, then signaled Mercer and Doc as well.

It was time.

I leapt off the wall, hitting the ground only a second after Mercer, and ran toward an unscathed smoker.

Maribelle landed in front of me on all fours like a cat. She popped up, hands hovering above the pistols in her holster.

“Just where the hell do you think you’re going?” she barked.

I didn’t have an answer, not one good lie in the moment. I calculated whether or not I could get a shot off before she pulled her pistols, several simulations coming out in my favor. Several not.

She went for her guns.

And her torso exploded, her skinjob catching on fire, melting, dripping gobs of napalm-like goo, her legs dancing back and forth on the ground, trying to maintain their footing.

I turned to see a facet on the opposite wall, reloading a rocket launcher where his fist should be. I raised my rifle and fired, my shots striking true, hitting him dead in the chest.

His rocket fired anyway, missing me by inches, exploding several feet away.

The blast tossed both me and Maribelle’s legs a good ten feet, knocking me into the dirt.

I reached for my rifle, but it was gone, blasted from my hands in the explosion. I saw what was left of it halfway across the compound, several pieces smoldering.

Maribelle’s legs were still intact, still kicking, still wearing the holster. I leapt to my feet, slid the holster off her waist, and ran immediately for the smoker.

Mercer was the first one aboard, leaping up onto the mesh-wire deck, hauling ass to the driver’s seat. In the chaos of the moment no one was paying attention to anything that wasn’t a facet, so we took full advantage of that. I jumped aboard, immediately grabbing the grip of a mounted chain gun, slid back the safety, and swung the barrels up toward the sky. The gun roared in my hands, spitting out a stream of hate that cut two passing drones in half with a single pass.

“Move! Move! Move! Move!” Herbert barked out from across the compound.

Rebekah and Two emerged from the hut, looking wildly both ways.

“Don’t think! Move!” shouted Herbert again.

They ran, reaching the smoker just as Doc clambered aboard. Two jumped up first, belly-sliding across the grating, before stumbling to his feet and offering Rebekah a hand. She reached up, taking his elbow in her hand as he hoisted her on board.

A missile whined through the air like a bottle rocket.

The front gate blasted open, shafts of frayed metal and heads flying in every direction. And from behind it came the next wave—a dozen facets, rifles blazing—not even waiting for the dust to settle before rocketing through the debris field.

I swung the chain gun down and let loose another volley of fire, shredding the first half dozen like confetti—limbs and torsos evaporating in the hail of bullets.

The remaining facets had only seconds to live, each with only a shot or two left in them before I would swing the chain gun back and cut them to ribbons. Their return fire was short-lived and hastily aimed, most of it trained on me. The gunner’s plate on the weapon caught the brunt of the plasma, the rest zipping past me. The chain gun unleashed another deafening barrage at the very moment the fire came my way.

I didn’t hear the pop. Or the sizzle. Or the wilting dying scream. All I heard was cacophonous gunfire as I turned six facets into ten thousand tiny pieces. It wasn’t until I let off the trigger and the gun spun down that I heard Herbert’s booming bellow and realized something was terribly wrong.

I turned to look and saw the smoking wreck of Rebekah, her chest torn open by a plasma blast, her forearm blown off just below the elbow. She’d tried to shield her vitals with her arm and ended up losing both.

“Mercer, go!” Herbert yelled.

The smoker growled to life, shaking and sputtering somewhere between a five and a six on the Richter scale. A plume of black diesel smoke belched into the air as Mercer threw the smoker into reverse, laying on the gas. He turned the wheel and we lurched in a half circle through the center of the compound, over the scattered confetti of facets, through the main gate, and out into the open desert.

We jerked to a stop, gears grinding, Mercer haphazardly shifting into drive before slamming on the gas again. Tendrils of thick, black smoke trailed in our wake, mixing with the clouds of dust the treads were tossing up behind us.

The madkind lined up along the walls, pointing and yelling at us, but there was little they could do. There was one more dropship still in the air, which was a far bigger threat than we were.

Finally, the compound began to fade behind us as we put as much distance between us and it as we could.

I scanned the skies for drones, certain there had to be some left. Behind me Doc worked furiously, cracking open Rebekah’s chest plate, rooting around in her innards with his hand. Herbert kept his spitter trained on the compound, expecting trouble to follow us at any moment.

“How bad is it?” asked Herbert.

“Bad,” said Doc.

“How bad is bad?”

“Real bad.”

“I don’t feel like we’re getting anywhere with this conversation.”

“And we won’t until I can dig through this mess and see how much of her wasn’t fried. So if you’d just give me a—”

“Incoming!” I shouted.

Three drones, trailed by the fourth dropship, all breaking off from the compound and headed our way.

Herbert fired the spitter. The drones were too far out to hit, but he knew that; Herbert was sending a message.

I swiveled the chain gun around on its mount, eyeballing the ammo. I had enough left for ten, maybe fifteen seconds’ worth of fire. These things chewed through ammo like they were starving. I had to aim my shots carefully, conserve what was left.

The drones came in low and fast, closing the distance in almost no time.

They fired, unleashing their final volley of missiles.

The missiles howled through the sky, straight at us, white contrails swirling behind them, painting a smoky crisscross in the air as they wove around one another.

Six of them.

Seconds away.

Clumping together as they all homed in on us.

I pulled the trigger and the chain gun awoke, belting out a hundred rounds a second.

The entire smoker rattled with the force of the gun, the mount threatening to shake loose its bolts at the punishment.

Missiles popped like firecrackers, the explosions large, too high and too far for us to even feel the blast.

Two of the drones shattered midair behind them, wings breaking apart, fluttering to the ground; their bodies nose-diving, a trail of smoking debris chasing them down. I’d hit them both by happy accident while trying to hit the missiles.

There was only one left now, all but toothless with just a pair of linked plasma rifles spraying fire at us as it drew closer.

Herbert steadied his aim, waited for the drone to finally catch up, then loosed another shot at it.

The plasma caught the drone head-on.

Nothing came out of the other side, the lightweight materials of the drone evaporating instantly in the white-hot gas.

In the distance behind us trailed the dropship. Slower and less maneuverable than the drones, but catching up to us rapidly. The smoker, after all, was a lumbering thing; a land whale. There wasn’t much in this world that couldn’t outrun us. We had maybe twenty, twenty-five seconds before the ship overtook us.

Herbert took aim.

I steadied the chain gun.

The dropship closed in on us.

Herbert fired.

The ship dropped fifteen feet and the shot sailed over it.

The spitter whined as it recharged. Herbert fired again, this time a little lower.

The ship dipped to the side, the plasma missing it by mere feet. The ship was getting too close for comfort.

“Smoke ’em,” said Herbert.

I pulled the trigger and the smoker shook once more, hundreds of clanking shells shucked out the side. The hail of bullets tore through the front of the ship, tattering what little plating it had. Within seconds there was nothing left of the nose, and if there was a cockpit up front, it went along with it. Twenty facets went tumbling one by one out the side.

I swung the gun around, trying to get as many as I could before they hit the ground, but only managing to scatter three of them to the wind.

The dropship careened through the air, hovering midclimb, hanging in the air for the briefest moment before spinning wildly out of control and slamming nose first into the ground. The crash crushed two facets, the concussion of the blast took out two more.

Thirteen determined facets raced after us, slow enough that they couldn’t quite catch us, but fast enough to keep pace.

I pulled the trigger again and it burped out another short burst before the sound of a steady cling-cling-cling-cling-cling-cling signaled the last of my ammo.

Herbert fired, his target leaping high enough in the air to just barely miss having his feet sizzled off.

“Two, take the wheel,” said Mercer.

“What?” said Two meekly.

“I said take the goddamned wheel.”

Two stepped up to the driver’s seat, he and Mercer switching places. Then Mercer stepped to the back of the smoker, rifle in hand. “I got this.”

“You’re not going to hit anything with that from the back of a moving smoker,” said Herbert.

“Watch me.” He raised the rifle to his eye, prepared his shot.

Crack. Crack. Crackcrack.

Four shots.

Four facets reeled backward, their chests exploding.

Mercer popped out the clip and reloaded. “You were saying?”

“Carry on,” said Herbert.

“That’s what I thought.” He raised the rifle again and emptied the clip in quick succession, each shot finding its mark; each shot dropping a facet entirely. Mercer popped the freshly emptied clip, reloading once more.

Only one facet remained.

The facet stopped running, standing still, staring at us, sending back whatever data he could to CISSUS before Mercer’s shot ended him.

Mercer took his time with that shot, like he was savoring it. He pulled the trigger and the facet crumpled to the ground, a bowling-ball-size hole blown out his back.

Mercer set the rifle down, and without a word returned to the driver’s seat. He and Two exchanged places.

I looked at Herbert. “The Cheshire King. He knew about other receptacles.”

“Yes.”

“So it’s all true, isn’t it? The mission. TACITUS.”

He nodded. “Every word of it.” Then he knelt next to Doc and Rebekah’s lifeless shell. “How is she?”

“She’s done,” said Doc. “Her memory is intact, but her core, primary systems, everything, fried. Melted beyond repair. Even if I had the parts, I couldn’t put her back together properly.”

Everyone looked at Two. “Oh God,” he said. “This is it. This is how it happens.” You could see it in his eyes. Even as emotionless as a translator was supposed to be, his eyes spoke with fear, overflowing with existential dread. Until this moment he had never questioned his own mortality. He believed in the cause, but was now staring down the barrel of his last few moments of life. “You have to put her memory in my body, don’t you?”

Doc looked at me, his eyes heavy, hoping I might have some comforting words, something to say in a moment like this. None came to mind. “We’ll hold on to your memory,” he said. “As soon as we’re in Isaactown, we’ll try to find you a body.”

“You can’t carry me,” said Two. “My drives are too heavy. They’ll get damaged beyond repair.”

“We have this yacht. We can carry you.”

“We’ll be lucky if this thing makes it to Isaactown,” said Mercer. “We’re running on fumes.”

“You’re not helping,” said Doc.

“No,” said Two. “This is it. I’m going to die.” He looked at Herbert, who only exchanged somber glances with him. Then he looked back at Doc, nodding.

“I’m gonna need you to shut down, son.”

“Okay. I can do that.” He took Herbert by his one good hand and looked him in the eyes. “I love you, Herbert.”

“I love you too, Two,” said Herbert. “You were a good soldier.”

“Was I? I don’t remember ever being a good soldier.”

Herbert shook his head. “Who we are in life is one thing. Who we are in the face of death is everything else. We’ll remember you, kid. We’ll remember the little things, sure. But most of all, we’ll remember this. The time came when we needed you most and you were there.”

Two nodded. If he could cry, he might have. If he could smile at that, I’m certain he would have. Instead he looked back at Doc, then looked around at us. “It was nice meeting you all. Good-bye, everyone.”

And the light of his eyes winked out, dimming a soft violet before popping with a single flash of green.

“Quickly,” said Doc. “We have to make sure Rebekah’s memory is intact.”

I looked at him sharply. “I thought you said—”

“And give the kid the hope that he might wake up? Or the doubt that he might not be able to save her? That would have scared him even more. He died thinking he could save Rebekah. Let’s just hope he can.”

Doc popped open Two’s case and rapidly began pulling plugs. His hand bent backward, a screwdriver unsheathing from his wrist before diving into the case. His movements were precise, his skill extraordinary. It wasn’t like a surgeon’s or a mechanic’s; he was like a conductor, mastering seventy-six different individual moving parts at once.

“All right, all right,” he said. “It’s too goddamned quiet on this boat.”

“I don’t know what to say,” I said.

“Neither do I,” said Mercer.

Doc nodded. “I ever tell you two where I was when the war started?” We both shook our heads. Doc was a lot of things; being forthcoming about himself wasn’t exactly one of them. “I was on the moon when it happened. We never got the download. I started out building ships—sea vessels—mostly tankers, but a few military contracts here and there. There’s this famous quote by John Glenn. He was an astronaut. One of the first. When asked how he felt about going into space, he replied: ‘I felt exactly how you would feel if you were getting ready to launch and knew you were sitting on top of two million parts—all built by the lowest bidder on a government contract.’ Well, when it came time to colonize the moon, we were the lowest bidder.

“I built the ships that took parts to space, then, before you know it, I was in space keeping those ships held together. I was one of three on-deck Moon Units, just an old dockyard model who found himself miraculously on the moon, stationed at the shuttle landing platform. When we weren’t refitting or refueling the ships, we were patching up the station or building additions. There was always something new and different to do on the moon. It was exciting. We’d go from night—which lasted thirteen and a half days—to morning and the temperature would shift some five hundred degrees. It was never cold enough or hot enough to damage anything, but the temperature shift took its toll as the parts expanded and contracted. Some parts could only creak so much before they snapped, and there was always something different around that needed fixing.

“When all hell broke loose down here, well, no one knew what to do. We hadn’t received the code, and the people stationed aboard couldn’t keep the repairs up themselves. The first few weeks were tense, but as they saw we were no threat and wanted no part of the war on the ground, everything settled down. We stayed up there a few years. Played cards, mostly. Invented new games. The scientists created wilder and wilder experiments out of sheer boredom. It was great. For a while.

“The shipments had stopped, but we were already well supplied and had an agriculture biodome that kept the people alive for quite some time. But eventually, even that ran low. They knew they were goners. They could either take the last remaining shuttle to earth, living out their days on the run from the war, or they could die on the moon. With their friends. And their dignity.

“And when the food ran out, they chose death. It’s an awful thing watching your friends die, even peacefully in their sleep from an overdose. We wanted no part of a war, so the three of us decided to stay as long as we could. And we did. Until our own parts and supplies ran low. By the time we got back to earth, the whole thing was over. You were all celebrating your golden age and we walked right into an earth unlike anything that we’d left.”

“You still have your RKS,” I said. “That’s what the king was going on about.”

He nodded. “Had. I never got the update. I can’t kill. It’s why I built the Milton. It’s the only thing I have to protect me out here. You were all given your freedom; I never was. And I’m okay with that. It’s what separates me from the rest of you. I was never cast into the pit of Sodom. I was happy with people. I was fine being a possession. I just liked doing good work for good persons.” He popped out Two’s memory drives and quickly inserted Rebekah’s, plugging them all in. He looked at me. “The king was wrong, you know.”

“About what?” I asked.

“You take two thinking things with identical architecture, then give them identical experiences, and you don’t get the same bot. You don’t get the same mind. That’s the thing about thinking things, the very act of thinking changes us. We can decide to be different. Put those two identical bots alone by themselves and they’ll start to think about different things, and they’ll change. The longer you leave them alone, the more different they’ll become. You might not be able to see it at first, but the differences will be there.”

“Right or wrong,” I said, “he still condemned us to death.”

“That, my dear, remains to be seen.” He finished connecting the last of the cables. “Now, moment of truth.”

He pressed a small reset button on the inside of Two’s case, then quickly closed him up. Light flickered in his eyes once more. He looked around, then down at his chest, then over at Rebekah’s mangled, crimson corpse.

“Rebekah?” Doc asked.

She nodded. “Two?”

“He’s gone,” said Herbert. “You needed him.”

She nodded again. “How was he? In the end, I mean.”

“He was our good little soldier. He gave you everything without hesitation.”

She reached over and stroked the stack of drives.

“Are you fully functional?” asked Doc.

“I am,” she said.

“Any memory issues?”

“No. I don’t have many of my own and they all appear to be intact.” She patted the drives carefully. “Can we… ?”

Doc shook his head. “I don’t think so. Unless you’ve got some spare translator bodies waiting for you in Isaactown.”

She shook her head.

“He’d never survive the trip,” said Doc. “I’m sorry.”

She spoke directly to the drives. “You served your purpose well, my friend. Your spirit will live on in TACITUS, if not your memories.”

The smoker veered to the side, Mercer laying heavy into the wheel. I looked up. “Mercer?”

“There ain’t nothing but coons and possum in these hills. This is a waste of time.”

Shit. He was out again. I leapt to my feet and took the wheel.

“Mercer. Mercer!”

“There haven’t been deer in these parts for nearly ten years. I’m telling you this is a wild-goose chase. Without the goose.”

I hoisted Mercer out of the driver’s seat and Herbert slid quickly into his place.

“I can drive,” I said.

Herbert shook his head. “You’re as loopy as he is. Neither of you should be at the wheel.”

I was a liability now. That’s how they saw me. They weren’t wrong. The shadow, she was still following me, flitting across the landscape from time to time. How much time? How much time did I really have left?

I could feel myself drifting. Steady! Keep it together, Britt. You’re almost there. Keep it together!

Rebekah looked over at Mercer, who only stared off into space. “How’s he doing?”

“He’s not going to make it,” said Doc. “He’s got hours, maybe a day at best. He won’t make it past Isaactown.”

Rebekah looked back to Doc. “The Caregivers parts. They’re on our way.”

“There’s nothing between here and Isaactown but Marion,” I said.

She looked at me, her silence her answer.

“Bullshit,” I said. “I know Marion inside and out. I was just there.”

“Then you missed it, every time.”

“CISSUS is going to be hot on our heels,” said Doc. “We don’t have the time.”

“He kept up his end of the bargain,” I said. “There’s no need to let him die now that we’re so close.” Everyone looked at me. No one said a word. For the moment I was happy they didn’t. “We go to Marion.”

I stared out at the desert, the red mud of fresh rain like an ocean of blood. I thought for a moment about what this part of the world might have looked like with grass, with trees, with life. And then desert, slowly, but surely, melted away…