My confusion is erased when Ben releases the woman and says, “Tristan—meet my sister, Jinny.”

I break into a smile and extend a hand. Smack Instead of shaking my hand, she slaps me across the face, stunning me. “That’s for being the son of the President,” she says. Then she hugs me tightly, pulling her head into my chest. I don’t hug back—my arms flail helplessly past her back—because I’m too shocked.

When she releases me, she says, “And that’s for joining the Resistance.”

“I, um, I, well…” I blubber.

“What he’s trying to say is that he’s pleased to meet you,” Roc says, extending his hand. When Jinny takes it, he says, “Can you show me how to do that slap you just laid on Tristy here? It could definitely come in handy.”

Jinny laughs while I continue to try to figure out what the hell is going on.

“My sister can be rather opinionated,” Ben says.

“Father?” Elsey says, rubbing her eyes groggily.

Ben’s head whips around, as if he’s forgotten about his youngest daughter. With a single large step, he moves to her side, puts a tender arm around her shoulder, and says, “Elsey—there’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

Jinny steps forward, reaching her hand out slowly, as if she’s afraid she might frighten her. “Hi, Elsey, I’m your Aunt Jinny.”

For a second I think Elsey might be angry as her eyes narrow, but then she rushes forward past Jinny’s outstretched arm and throws her petite hands around her back. When she pushes back to look up at her aunt’s face, she says, “But why didn’t you ever visit?”—her head swivels to face her dad—“And why didn’t you ever tell me you had a sister, Father?”

Ben’s eyebrows arch and he smiles lightly. “I’m so sorry, El. I had to keep Jinny’s existence a secret for everyone’s safety. There are bad people that wanted to take her.”

“Like they took you and Mother?”

“Exactly like that.”

As she pulls away from Jinny, Elsey’s hands move to her hips and a scowl appears on her face. The expression reminds me so much of Adele. “Are there any other relatives I should know about?”

Ben laughs. “I’m afraid not,” he says. “Your mom is an only child and it is just Jinny and me.”

“Then I suppose I can forgive you…this time,” Elsey says, once more smiling.

“Ahem.” Someone clears their throat at the train door. I turn to see a towering, dark-skinned guy with a day’s worth of stubble. He’s wearing a dark brown tunic cut off at the shoulders. Powerful, muscular arms hang loosely at each side, like rock-crushing sledgehammers. “We should really move inside,” he says.

“Ram,” Ben says, “it’s good to see you again.”

“I’m glad you’re alive.”

“Thank you.”

“Ramseys—meet Tristan Nailin.”

“I know who he is,” Ram says, his eyes dark and glaring. “Follow me.” Without another word he leaves the train, clearly expecting us to follow. He doesn’t like me—that much is obvious.

“Sorry about him,” Ben says.

“No problem,” I say. “I’m used to all kinds of reactions to me. I think I prefer Ram’s to most.”

Ben’s head cocks to the side, as if he’s surprised by my statement. “I have a feeling you’re just like an onion,” he says, taking Elsey’s hand and pulling her off the train before I can ask what he means.

Chapter Five

Adele

The fourth hour passes and we don’t stop. Neither of us speaks. The only sounds are from our heavy breathing and the scuff of our shoes on the rock tunnel. The fifth hour passes and my headache escalates into a fever. I feel cold and shivery and empty, but my head is boiling. Sweat drips in my eyes, and when I blink it stings.

I sneak a look at Tawni. Her face is so gaunt and pale that she looks like a ghost. A thin sheen of sweat coats her skin.

Somehow we manage to maintain a steady pace to the sixth hour. My muscles are on fire, but not because of our long, strenuous hike. The virus is attacking my body, and from the feel of things, my body’s not putting up much of a fight.

Next to me, Tawni stumbles. She manages to stay on her feet, but then a minute later, she stumbles again.

“You okay?” I ask.

She opens her mouth to speak, but no words come out. She points to her legs. Her muscles are failing her. Mine will do the same soon. We have to hurry.

“Here.” I reach out and grasp her hand. We’re going to have to support each other the rest of the way.

We keep walking. Tawni stumbles every few minutes, but I keep her up. Her right leg is doing this weird dragging thing with each step. Left foot up, step, right foot drag, repeat. It makes for slow going.

I stumble for the first time, but Tawni holds me up this time, which I acknowledge with a nod. Speaking will waste precious energy. It is weird, losing control of your body. It almost feels like I’ve been sucked into the past, when I was a toddler, unable to fully control my arms and legs. It’s like I know they’re there, and capable of doing cool things, but I just can’t quite get them to do what I want. My left arm is no longer swinging while I walk, like it should; rather it hangs lifeless at my side. Dead. Like it’s not part of my body anymore, just a strange growth. My other arm is only held up because I’m holding Tawni’s hand.

I know my headache is bad, but I can’t really feel it anymore. My muscles are aching more.

Seven hours pass, but I know we aren’t moving fast enough to make it to subchapter 30 in only eight hours. Even if Tawni’s guess as to the distance was correct, we might be four hours away still. We won’t last that long. Not without water. Not without medicine.

“Ahhhhh!” Tawni screams next to me and I practically jump out of my skin. Instinctively I release her hand and pull away, moving flush with the tunnel wall. She is clawing at her face, tearing light scratches down her cheeks with her fingernails. A thin layer of blood rises to the surface. “Get them the hell off!” she screams.

I know she’s hallucinating, but I don’t know what she’s seeing. It doesn’t really matter—just that she’s scared and needs my help. Without hesitation, I grab her hands and pull them away from her damaged face. She’s lucky. Somehow she missed poking herself in the eye.

She struggles against me, tries to lift her hands back to her face, tries to claw at herself. Having no other choice, I release one of her hands and slap her hard across the face before she can raise it to her cheek. She stops struggling and collapses into my arms. Gently, gently, gently I lower her to the unforgiving rock bed. Her eyes are wide open, watery and red. She makes a weird gurgling, squealing sound from the back of her throat. “Shhh,” I say. “You’re okay, Tawni. They’re not real.” Whatever they are.

Tawni’s chest is heaving but as I talk her breathing seems to slow, so I keep doing it, speaking softly, like I’m talking to a child. “Hush, hush, hush, my friend, danger’s far away…Hush, hush, hush, my friend, the monsters go away.” It’s part of a poem my mom used to sing to me when I had nightmares, although my mom used to say my princess instead of my friend.

Not knowing what else to say, I cradle Tawni’s head in the crook of my arm and hum to her, finishing the rest of the poem without words. Partway through, her eyes close and her body relaxes, going limp in my arms. The worst of the hallucination is over. When I finish I think she might be asleep, but when I move, her eyes open, blue and misty, but snaked with red veins, brought to the surface by the virus.

“Thanks,” she says.

“It’s okay.”

“They were eating my flesh.”