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I looked out at Beatrice and Clara, their silhouettes just visible beyond dry, withered shrubs. As I approached, I caught snippets of their conversation, a few sentences carried in by the wind. “If it’s infected, we don’t have a choice,” Clara said. “I just don’t see how she could survive otherwise. ” Beatrice was at her side, the two of them hunched over, bracing themselves against the cold.
“It’s not infected, though—not yet,” Beatrice said. They turned when they saw me coming.
Beatrice shook her head. “You haven’t heard anything new from the radio?” she asked. “There are no stops on the Trail nearby? If we could find somewhere to rest . . . even just a week or so . . . ”
“Most of the rebels left for the City. The ones outside the walls have been quiet,” I said. “The only messages I’ve heard have come from survivors inside. The public executions have stopped, but others are being taken from their homes for questioning. The colonies have been silent—if they haven’t come yet, it seems unlikely they’ll come at all. ”
“And my mother . . . ?” Clara asked.
I shook my head. I hadn’t heard anything about my aunt Rose since the siege had ended. I had to hope that she and Charles were still alive, though I knew at least Charles was implicated in our escape.
We sat down in front of the low row of shrubs, our shoulders pressed together, trying to keep warm. Clara let out a long, slow breath. Her knees were scraped and bloody from where they’d bit into the cliff’s face as she’d tried to hold on to Helene. “What if Helene’s leg gets infected?” Clara asked. “In the City there’d be ways to treat her, but out here . . . she could die. What are we supposed to tell the girls then?”
Beatrice rubbed her forehead. “People did survive these things in the years after the plague. She’s not the first person to break an arm or leg in the wild. We have to wait and see. ”
“You should send a message out on the radio,” Clara said. The moon cast strange shadows on her face. Her skin looked so pale, almost gray, in the light. “We should see if the rebels could send help. ”
“Only as a last resort,” I said. “It’s too dangerous. Moss told me about a stop on the map—it’s not more than a day’s walk. Some of the rebels used it on their way to the City, but it’s abandoned now. We could camp there for a few days to rest. ”
Beatrice nodded. “Stovepipe Wells? The place you mentioned?”
“Exactly,” I said. “We just need to get there. ”
“We’ll have to carry her the whole way,” Clara said. “If she survives. ”
“She will,” Beatrice said. “I hope she will. ”
Behind us, there was a cracking sound, the dry shrubs breaking under new weight. I turned, noticing the figure standing in the bushes. It took me a moment, studying her features in the moonlight, to realize who it was. “What are you doing up?” I asked.
“What do you mean, you hope she will survive?” Bette asked. “You think she might die?”
Beatrice stood quickly, going to Bette’s side. “No, she’s not going to die,” she said. She held Bette close, trying to calm her. “Don’t worry. We’re taking care of her. We’ve set her leg; we’re doing everything we can. ”
Bette didn’t move, even as Beatrice pulled her closer, cradling her head with her hand. She didn’t take her eyes off me. In her gaze was a quiet accusation.
“So we’ll go to Stovepipe Wells tomorrow morning,” Clara said, stepping past me. “As we agreed. ” They started back to the dark campsite, moving across the valley floor without me.
Bette was the only one who turned back, our eyes meeting. “She’s going to be fine,” I said. But they were already a few yards ahead, moving farther into the darkness, beyond where my voice could reach.
nineteen
“I GOT IT!” SARAH YELLED AS SHE CROSSED THE DOORWAY INTO the motel lobby. “I win!” Three girls darted after her, realizing they were a second too late. Sarah held the stuffed mouse in the air. It had only one eye, its red shorts missing a yellow button. The other girls tried to grab it out of her hands, but she stood on her tiptoes, holding it above their heads.
“They’re in better spirits,” Beatrice whispered to me. She folded a few of the shirts we’d found, pressing them into a duffel bag. “I don’t think I can take much more of that screaming, though. ”
“Why don’t you guys call it a night,” I said, glancing outside. The sky was already a deep reddish pink, the sun sinking low behind the mountains. “You’ve got about fifteen more minutes of light. You should get your beds set up. ”
Sarah wandered down the hall, some of the girls following her, leaving to retrieve the blankets from the room where Helene slept. We’d been at the motel in Stovepipe Wells for four days, staying in the back section of the building that was set off from the road. The girls had made up a game that involved kidnapping, then hiding, a tattered stuffed animal they’d found. The first one to cross through the front door with it in her hand won. What exactly the prize was never was clear.
Clara stood behind the front desk, lining up a row of glass bottles on the counter. “There’s ten in all,” she said. “Should we leave some in case more people pass through?”
I went beside her, peering into the cabinets below the front desk. We’d found the supplies the rebels had left. There were bottles of water, dried fruit and nuts, and some clean towels and bandages. It couldn’t have been more than three or four weeks since they’d stopped here on their way to the City. There were little signs of them still. Fresh footprints in the dirt, trailing around to the back houses. Someone had left a comb by an old mirror in the hall, the plastic clear of all dust. There was a gold locket I’d discovered, tangled in one of the towels, a tiny piece of red paper folded inside, my love to carry scrawled across it. I kept it with me, the chain rattling in my pocket. I couldn’t stop wondering whose it was, where they were now, if they had been killed inside the City.
“Two bottles and some of the dried food,” I said. “Now that the siege is over, I doubt anyone will use this stop. But better to leave some just in case. ”
Sarah and a few of the girls came back into the lobby, dusty blankets in their arms. They threw some down on the old couches, the cushions sunken in. Lena, a quiet girl with scratched black glasses, lay down on one, pulling the blanket over her legs. She reached for the plastic container of wrinkled pamphlets labeled HIKING IN DEATH VALLEY and WELCOME TO STOVEPIPE WELLS. She always read them before she went to sleep.
Bette pulled Helene along in the sled, moving a little too quickly through the narrow hall. “Careful,” I called out. “Watch her leg. ”
Bette glared at me. “I am watching,” she muttered. She helped Helene up, resting her bad leg on the piles of flattened pillows at the end of the couch. The swelling had gone down, but the skin was still bright pink. The bruising made everything look worse. Purple welts covered one shoulder. The side of her face was swollen, the gash on her forehead still raw.
“Do we have to leave tomorrow?” Helene asked, wincing as she lowered herself onto the couch.