We don’t have time for prisoners, so I move in close and give each a moderate-strength tap on the head with the butt of the gun.

My job finished, I spin around and survey the scene before me. It’s not good. Ben is on the ground, clutching his wounded leg and bleeding from the side of his head—his ear I think. A gun lies discarded a few feet away, but out of his reach. The last remaining soldier has his sword out and is waving it wildly at Roc, who stands in front of Elsey with his own sword, protecting her from the onslaught. Roc’s a maniac, growling between bared teeth and blocking each attack with a fervor I’ve been trying to get out of him for weeks. He’s a man possessed.

As I consider my options, I watch as Roc blocks another sword stroke and then flicks his wrist, rapidly slipping his own blade around his opponent’s weapon, slashing him on the hand. The guy cries out and drops his sword as blood spills from his mangled thumb. Dashing forward, Roc lands a hard kick to the guy’s gut, knocking him onto his back. I’ve got to hand it to him—Roc looks amazing, a mere shadow of his former timid self.

But he’s not done yet. He strides forward, his face awash with fury, his sword raised high above his head.

With no time to think, I rush ahead, closing the distance in three long strides. Roc thrusts his blade to the ground and I dive.

Clang!

My hearing returns just in time to appreciate the full extent of the impact of metal on metal, as I slap Roc’s blade away from the downed soldier.

From the ground, I look up at my best friend. Roc stares back at me with horror and anguish, his teeth no longer bared, his eyebrows no longer fierce. All strength sapped from him, he’s just a scared teenager again. “I’m…I’m sorry,” he says weakly.

“Roc, it’s okay. You were just doing what you needed to.”

“But I…I didn’t need to kill him.” His brown-skinned face is ashen, appearing paler than I have ever seen it.

“You didn’t.”

“Only because you…” He trails off.

“It doesn’t matter how,” I say. “It’s over.”

From beside me on the ground, the soldier sucks the air sharply through his teeth, grimacing in pain and clutching at his severed thumb. “What are you going to do with me?” he asks.

In one swift motion, I snap my elbow across his skull, delivering another knockout blow. He slumps over and becomes still.

I stand up and take Roc’s sword, which is dangling precariously from his loosened fingers. I don’t want him to lose a toe when he accidentally drops the blade point-first onto his foot. Closer to him, I can see him trembling slightly, his body’s reaction to the burst of adrenaline he received during the fight.

I place a hand on his shoulder. “You did well, my friend. You were amazing actually.”

“But I almost…”

“He was trying to do the same to you,” I say.

“Roc,” a tiny voice says from behind him.

Elsey is wide-eyed and serious, her brow furrowed, her lips bunched and tight. As soon as Roc turns, she rushes to him, throws her thin arms around him, pulls him to her. “I owe you my life,” she says solemnly.

At her words, Roc’s face finally relaxes and his body goes slack. He hugs her back. He’s going to be okay.

“I need to help Ben,” I say.

“Father?” Elsey says, her head popping up.

“I’m okay,” Ben says, lifting a hand to his mangled ear, which is still bleeding heavily. “We don’t have time to linger.”

“You need medical attention,” I say, kneeling down to inspect his leg. The bullet entered his skin just above the knee. I search for an exit wound but there isn’t one. “The bullet’s still inside you.”

“No—I’m fine. There will be time for that later. More troops will be here any second.” His face tells me he’s not fine, but he is right. We have no choice but to keep going.

“Okay, let me help you.”

“I’m fine,” he says again. I think he’s saying it to convince himself—like a self-motivation sort of thing. It seems to work as he manages to push himself to his feet, favoring his uninjured leg. “Follow me. Hurry.”

Elsey clutches her dad’s side as he limps toward the reservoir. She doesn’t ask if he’s all right, just takes his word for it.

With no other choice, Roc and I follow in their wake, watching carefully to make sure he doesn’t stumble. Ben stops at the water’s edge and gazes into it. I wonder what he’s doing. Has the loss of blood affected his mind?

He dives into the water headfirst.

Chapter Three

Adele

The first two hours are fine. We maintain a light jog, trying to use our relative health to our advantage. Tawni stumbles once when she trips over a stone, but I catch her arm and we keep going. No one dies. I consider it a victory.

Although our fitness levels are improving since we left the Pen, we are still in no shape for an eight-hour run, so we eventually slow our pace to a hurried march. Tawni’s long strides force me to take two steps for every one of hers. Her white ponytail swishes from side to side, like the ticking spindle on a clock. Ticking away the minutes on our lives.

Halfway into the third hour, Tawni says, “Uh-oh.” It’s the first thing either of us has said, as we are concentrating on our breathing. It’s not the first thing I hoped to hear out of her mouth.

“What is it?”

“I have a headache.”

“It might just be a headache,” I say.

“It’s not.”

“The symptoms are too early.”

“You can’t predict these things, Adele. Three hours is just the average. Plus we didn’t leave right after we drank the water.”

I know she’s right. Since I’ve known Tawni, she’s never complained of headaches. It would be too much of a coincidence that she gets one now. I don’t believe in coincidences.

“We have to go faster,” I say.

We start to jog again, even though we both know it’s not sustainable. A half-hour later my legs are on fire and I can’t seem to swallow enough air to satisfy my hungry lungs. A silent drumbeat begins to thump in my temple. A headache. I don’t say anything. Just keep jogging.

“I need to stop for a minute,” Tawni pants.

I pull up short and look at my friend. She’s not doing well—that much I can see. She’s breathing even heavier than I am and her face is knotted with pain. “Any new symptoms?” I ask.

Tawni shakes her head. “Just the headache, but it’s getting worse.”

“I’ve got one, too,” I admit. “But it’s not bad yet.”

“We need water.”

I close my eyes, wish with all my might that water will appear out of thin air. When I open my eyes we still don’t have any water. “Damn, didn’t work,” I say.

Tawni manages a wry grin, but I can tell even that’s a struggle.

“Let’s walk fast again. Every step forward gets us closer. We might still make it.” I’m trying to be optimistic, which is hard for me. Secretly I’m praying we stumble upon someone—I’d take anyone at this point, perhaps even some bloodthirsty star dweller soldiers.

We start up again and the thuds in my head sync with my footsteps. Thud, thud. Thud, thud. Thud! With each step I feel like my headache reaches its maximum point of pain, but then the next step hurts even more, pounds a little harder. It feels like my skull is trying to break free from my skin. Tawni’s headache started earlier, so she must be hurting even more, but I don’t look at her because I have to concentrate on my own steps.

After three hours we have to stop to rest. I sling my pack in the corner between the wall and the floor, sit down next to it, lean my back against the rough stone. Tawni slumps next to me, huddling close.

Not for the first time since we parted ways, and surely not for the last time, my thoughts turn to Tristan. Our lost kiss.