But it will never get there if that gate stays standing.

Not far ahead, where the water meets the fence line, I see a spark—once, then twice, in the familiar motion of someone striking flint.

I want to shout again to tell him to stop, to wait, to see how dangerous it is to be this close to the gate, this close to the zombies barreling down on it. Cren isn’t a fighter; he never has been. He doesn’t even like killing animals to eat them. If this herd of Risen reaches him, he’s done for. Ryan and I probably are too. Who knows? We might already be dead.

Another spark and then something catches. It buzzes with orange life in the darkness and I can see the outline of Crenshaw and his bathrobe billowing in the wind.

Before he can throw it, the night erupts in a series of explosions from inside the Pod. The ground shakes underneath me, making me feel unsteady on my sprinting feet. I try not to stumble just as flames blow into the sky in pillars that devour trees as they climb. There’s screaming drowned out by a few smaller explosions.

The cannibals have done their job, which means we’re late doing ours.

“Throw it!” I scream to Crenshaw.

He’s hesitated, the burning fuse still eating its way down to the explosives in his hand. He’s running out of time.

Luckily he hears me. He reaches back then launches the bomb forward, straight at the gate. It lands just shy of it, bouncing and rolling over the ground until it comes to a stop a few feet away.

“Get down!” Ryan shouts at me.

I throw myself to the ground just as it explodes. There’s more fire, more dirt and debris falling from the sky, along with the very satisfying sound of metal groaning in angry protest.

When I look up, I find Ryan on the ground next to me and an inferno burning at the gate. It’s still standing, but it’s taken a good hit.

Before I can catch my breath or stand, there’s another spark. I bury my head in my arms, preparing for another blast.

When it happens, it’s big.

Too big.

There’s the initial burst that sounds exactly like the first: boom, rain, groan. But then almost immediately there’s another one. And another. And another. They keep coming in rapid fire until I stop counting them and the sky feels like it’s falling down on top of me. Large chunks of dirt and rock pelt my back and legs. I feel like I’m deaf or underwater, the way I was in the tunnel. It’s too loud and disorienting. It also doesn’t make any sense.

When the rain finally stops, I hesitantly look up. The gate is gone. It is completely and utterly destroyed, and just in time too. The zombie herd, not even the least bit worried about the explosions ahead of them, are wandering directly toward it. They’ll walk right in, make themselves at home, sleep in their beds. Snack on their brains.

The part that’s crazy, though, is how it happened. I’m not an expert on explosives. I actually don’t know jack-all about them, but I know it’s weird that one bomb did minor damage while one just like it threatened to crack the earth in half.

I sit up, glancing at Ryan to find him on his knees, staring in amazement at the devastation surrounding the Pod.

“Ryan.”

He looks back at me with his face still intact, not a drop of blood to be seen, and I sigh with relief.

Then I nearly scream when I see his expression.

“Joss, it—” He chokes on his words.

I die a little when I hear his voice. It’s off. It’s the wrong key played in the middle of your favorite song. It’s someone changing the lyrics on you and it all stumbles to an awkward halt as you look around dizzily, wondering what went wrong. But when I see his eyes, I know what it is. It’s fresh pine and twinkle lights. It’s Jingle Bells played backwards. It’s blood on the stockings and lower intestines on the hardwood.

It’s a bloody bathrobe bobbing in the water.

Chapter Twenty One

Ali has the body. What’s left of it. The explosion tore through everything. Metal. Stone. Flesh and bone. I don’t want to see it. I already did. I saw enough. I’m not sure why Ryan takes me to see it again, but I don’t ask and I don’t fight.

I don’t care.

I follow him and I watch him. I look at him the way Trent told me to—trying to understand how he works. Not simply accepting that he does, but wondering why. How. I’m looking at the complicated mechanics of his muscles moving his bones and his lungs filling with air and his blood somehow staying inside his body, warming his skin from the inside out. It’s impressive how he does it when everyone else keeps springing leaks.

It was the Colonists. Not directly, but it was their explosives that killed Crenshaw. He launched a second bomb at the gate, one that did the job and sent pieces of it flying everywhere. Right into the field of landmines they had set up against their wall. The falling debris triggered them all, setting off a daisy chain of explosions that tore through the earth, heading straight toward us—right through Crenshaw. It was the shrapnel that did him in. The blast kicked him back into the water, but not before shards of cement and steel ripped through his flesh. According to Ryan, he was dead before he landed. The only reason Ryan and I are still alive is because we were already on the ground when it happened.

“Ali has him in this tent by the water,” Ryan explains, though I don’t know why. I didn’t ask. “She said Crenshaw used to love the water, back before the gangs and the Colonies took over the bay.”

I can see the tent just ahead of us. The sun is rising behind it, the first rays of light scorching the city, setting the tent on fire and making it glow with an eerie light.

He holds open the flap for me. I go in without hesitation and I walk directly to the tables where the body is laid. Blankets have been pulled over it to hide the mess, but blood is seeping through. It’s destroyed. It’s nothing. It may as well be a zombie for how alive it is. Some would say that he’s better off because he died as himself. He was never a mindless meatsuit for some unthinkable freak show.

I say that’s bullshit. Dead is dead.

“Where’s Ali?” I ask Ryan.

“Sam took her away. She needed to sleep.”

“Why am I here?”

He pauses. “I don’t know. To say goodbye?”

“Is that why you’re here?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you need me for that?”

More silence.

“No,” he says quietly, but his voice is hard.

I turn on my heel, carefully avoiding his eyes as I leave. “I’ll see you at dinner.”

I burst out of the tent into the sunlight, leaving him behind, feeling like I’ll vomit.

And I know. No one needs to tell me, because I already know: I’m being awful. I’m pushing him away, I’m acting like a coward, I’m ruining everything. I see it crystal clear. Don’t think for a second I’m not aware of it. Don’t think it doesn’t kill me to do it.

Here’s what it boils down to—instinct. This is my survival. Being alone is what I know and I tried something different and that’s great—yea, me!—but it didn’t work out because as nice as the ride is, the destination is always the same. Simple truth is everybody dies. I can’t stop that and neither can they. I also can’t handle it. My instincts are telling me to run away from Ryan as fast as I can, the same way they told me to run away from the fireball. It doesn’t matter that I understand running away from it will get me killed. If it happened again, I’d still go the wrong way. Just like I’m running the wrong way right now.

I spend the rest of the day sleeping. It’s my only chance to get clear of everyone. People know me now. They all knew Crenshaw and they’ve heard we were close, so now everyone wants to console the wild girl suffering a loss. It’s a miracle I’m still here. I don’t know how many times I look longingly through the throng of people surrounding me and dream of running through the streets. I want to go home, lock my door, and never think about this day again. I want to stow the crazy old man in the vault with the rest of them—the others, whose names I’ve managed to forget. The faces that are a blur, then a scream, then nothing.