“What words did he have?” I ask.
The boy shrugs. “Ones to say over the dead.”
“What did they sound like?” I ask.
“I don’t remember much,” he says. “Something about a Pilot.”
I blink in surprise. Ky knew the words of the Tennyson poem, too. How? Then I remember that day in the woods when I first opened the compact. Ky told me later that he saw me. Perhaps he saw that poem too, over my shoulder, or perhaps I whispered it aloud as I read it again and again there in the woods. I smile. So we share the second poem, too.
Indie looks back and forth between the boy and me, her eyes curious. “What did he mean about the Pilot?” she asks.
The boy shrugs. “I don’t know. It was something he said whenever people died. That’s all.” Then the boy begins to laugh, a sound without any humor in it. “But he must have been saying those words for hours that last night.”
“What happened the last night?”
“There was a firing,” he says, no more laughter. “The worst one of all.”
“When was it?”
He looks down at his boot. “Two nights ago,” he says, as if he can hardly believe it. “Feels like it’s been longer than that.”
“You saw him that night?” I say, my heart racing. If this boy is to be believed, Ky was alive and near two nights ago. “Are you sure? You saw his face?”
“Not his face,” the boy says, “his back. He and his friend Vick ran off and left us for dead. They left us to die so they could save themselves. Only six of us survived. I don’t know where the Officers took the other five after they brought me here. I’m the only one in this camp.”
Indie glances at me, her eyes questioning, asking Is it him? It doesn’t seem like Ky, to leave people behind, and yet it does seem like Ky to find the one chance in a hopeless situation and take it. “So he took off the night of the firing. And left you—” I can’t finish the sentence.
It’s silent there under the sky.
“I don’t blame them,” the boy says, his bitterness turning to exhaustion. “I’d have done the same thing. If too many of us ran, we’d have been caught. They tried to help us. Showed us how to make it so our guns would fire once, so we could at least shoot back. Still, they knew what they were doing the night they left. Their timing was perfect. So many people died that night, some of them from our own guns, the Society might not know who ended up ash and who didn’t. I noticed, though. I saw them go.”
“Do you know where they are now?” Indie asks.
“Somewhere in there.” He points toward the sandstone formations barely visible from here. “Our village was over near those rocks. He called that place the Carving. He must have been desperate. It’s death in there. Anomalies, scorpions, flash floods. Still . . . ” He pauses, looks up at the sky. “They took this kid with them. Eli. Only thirteen, probably, the youngest in our group, couldn’t keep his mouth shut. What good was he to them? Why not take one of us?”
It is Ky. Hope and disappointment both wash over me.
“But if you saw him go, why didn’t you follow?” I ask.
“I saw what happened to someone who did,” the boy says flatly. “He was too late. The air ships gunned him down. Only the three of them made it in.” He looks back at the Carving again, remembering.
“How far away is the Carving?” I ask.
“A long run from here,” he says. “Twenty-five, thirty miles.” He raises his eyebrows at me. “So you think you’ll get there on your own? It rained last night. Their footprints will be gone.”
“I’d like you to help me,” I say. “Show me where exactly he went.”
He grins, a grin I don’t like but can understand. “And what do I get in return?”
“Something you can use to survive in the canyons,” I say, “stolen from a medical center in the Society. I’ll tell you more when you get us to the Carving safely.” I glance over at Indie. We haven’t talked about whether or not she’s coming with me; but it seems like we’re a team now.
“Fine,” he says, looking interested. “But I don’t want another leftover meal that tastes like foilware.” Indie makes a small sound of surprise, but I know why he’s not holding out: he wants to leave with us. He wants to escape, too, but he won’t do it alone. Not when he was in Ky’s camp. Not now. He needs us as much as we need him.
“It won’t be,” I say. “I promise.”
“We’ll have to run all night. Can you do that?”
“Yes,” I say.
“I can too,” Indie says, and I glance over at her. “I’m coming,” she says, and it’s not a question. She does what she wants. And this is the run of a lifetime.
“Good,” I say.
“I’ll come get you when it’s dark and everyone’s asleep,” the boy says. “Find somewhere to rest. There’s an old store, near the edge of the village. That might be the best place. The decoys who stay there won’t hurt you.”
“All right,” I say. “But what if there’s a firing?”
“If there’s a firing, I’ll come find you after it’s over. If you’re not dead. Did they give you flashlights?”
“Yes,” I tell him.
“Bring them. The moon will help, but it’s not full any more.”
The moon comes up white over the black ridge, and I realize that the ridge was there all along, a thing I had forgotten, although I could have noticed it by the lack of stars in the space of its shape. The stars here are like the ones in Tana, many and sharp in the clean night air. “I’ll be back soon,” Indie says, and before I can stop her she slips away.
“Be careful,” I whisper, too late. She’s gone.
“When do they usually come?” one of the girls asks. We all stand gathered at the windows, which have no glass anymore. The wind blows through, its current a river of cold air from window to window.
“You never know,” a boy says. His face is full of resignation. “You never know.” He sighs. “When they do come, the best place is the cellars. This village has them. Some don’t.”
“Some people take their chances up here, though,” another boy says. “I don’t like the cellars. I don’t think right when I’m down there.”