We stay off the river road for obvious reasons and tear thru the trees, heading, as always, towards Haven, snapping thru twigs and branches, getting away from Carbonel Downs as fast as our legs can carry us.

It’s not ten minutes before we hear the first gunshots.

We don’t look back. We don’t look back.

We run and the sounds fade.

We keep running.

Me and Viola are both faster than Ben and sometimes we have to slow down to let him catch up.

We run past one, then two small, empty settlements, places that obviously heeded the rumours about the army better than Carbonel Downs did. We keep to the woods twixt the river and the road but we don’t even see any caravans. They must be high-tailing it to Haven.

On we run.

Night falls and we keep on running.

“You all right?” I ask Ben, when we stop by the river to refill the bottles.

“Keep on going,” he says, gasping. “Keep on going.”

Viola sends me a worried look.

“I’m sorry we don’t got food,” I say, but he just shakes his head and says, “Keep going.”

So we keep going.

Midnight comes and we run thru that, too.

(Who knows how many days? Who cares any more?)

Till finally, Ben says, “Wait,” and stops, hands on his knees, breathing hard in a real unhealthy way.

I look around us by the light of the moons. Viola’s looking, too. She points. “There.”

“Up there, Ben,” I say, pointing up the small hill Viola’s seen. “We’ll be able to get a view.”

Ben don’t say nothing, just gasps and nods his head and follows us. There’s trees all the way up the side but a well-tended path and a wide clearing at the top.

When we get there, we see why.

“A sematary,” I say.

“A what?” Viola says, looking round at all the square stones marking out their graves. Must be a hundred, maybe two, in orderly rows and well-kept grass. Settler life is hard and it’s short and lotsa New World people have lost the battle.

“It’s a place for burying dead folk,” I say.

Her eyes widen. “A place for doing what?”

“Don’t people die in space?” I ask.

“Yeah,” she says. “But we burn them. We don’t put them in holes.” She crosses her arms around herself, mouth and forehead frowning, peering around at the graves. “How can this be sanitary?”

Ben still hasn’t said anything, just flopped down by a gravestone and leant against it, catching his breath. I take a swig from a water bottle and then hand it to Ben. I look out and around us. You can see down the road for a piece and there’s a view of the river, too, rushing by us on the left now. It’s a clear sky, the stars out, the moons starting to crescent in the sky above us.

“Ben?” I say, looking up into the night.

“Yeah?” he says, drinking down his water.

“You all right?”

“Yeah.” His breath’s getting back to normal. “I’m built for farm labour. Not sprinting.”

I look at the moons one more time, the smaller one chasing the larger one, two brightnesses up there, still light enough to cast shadows, ignorant of the troubles of men.

I look into myself. I look deep into my Noise.

And I realize I’m ready.

This is the last chance.

And I’m ready.

“I think it’s time,” I say. I look back at him. “I think now’s the time, if it’s ever gonna be.”

He licks his lips and swallows his water. He puts the cap back on the bottle. “I know,” he says.

“Time for what?” Viola asks.

“Where should I start?” Ben asks.

I shrug. “Anywhere,” I say, “as long as it’s true.”

I can hear Ben’s Noise gathering, gathering up the whole story, taking one stream out of the river, finally, the one that tells what really happened, the one hidden for so long and so deep I didn’t even know it was there for my whole up-growing life.

Viola’s silence has gone more silent than usual, as still as the night, waiting to hear what he might say.

Ben takes a deep breath.

“The Noise germ wasn’t Spackle warfare,” he says. “That’s the first thing. The germ was here when we landed. A naturally occurring phenomenon, in the air, always had been, always will be. We got outta our ships and within a day everyone could hear everyone’s thoughts. Imagine our surprise.”

He pauses, remembering.

“Except it wasn’t everyone,” Viola says.

“It was just the men,” I say.

Ben nods. “No one knows why. Still don’t. Our scientists were mainly agriculturalists and the doctors couldn’t find a reason and so for a while, there was chaos. Just . . . chaos, like you wouldn’t believe. Chaos and confusion and Noise Noise Noise.” He scratches underneath his chin. “A lotta men scattered theirselves into far communities, getting away from Haven as fast as roads could be cut. But soon folk realized there was nothing to be done about it so for a while we all tried to live with it the best we could, found different ways to deal with it, different communities taking their own paths. Same as we did when we realized all our livestock were talking, too, and pets and local creachers.”

He looks up into the sky and to the sematary around us and the river and road below.

“Everything on this planet talks to each other,” he says. “Everything. That’s what New World is. Informayshun, all the time, never stopping, whether you want it or not. The Spackle knew it, evolved to live with it, but we weren’t equipped for it. Not even close. And too much informayshun can drive a man mad. Too much informayshun becomes just Noise. And it never, never stops.”

He pauses and the Noise is there, of course, like it always is, his and mine and Viola’s silence only making it louder.

“As the years went by,” he goes on, “times were hard all over New World and getting harder. Crops failing and sickness and no prosperity and no Eden. Definitely no Eden. And a preaching started spreading in the land, a poisonous preaching, a preaching that started to blame.”

“They blamed the aliens,” Viola says.

“The Spackle,” I say and the shame returns.

“They blamed the Spackle,” Ben confirms. “And somehow preaching became a movement and a movement became a war.” He shakes his head. “They didn’t stand a chance. We had guns, they didn’t, and that was the end of the Spackle.”

“Not all,” I say.

“No,” he says. “Not all. But they learned better than to come too near men again, I tell you that.”

A brief wind blows across the hilltop. When it stops, it’s like we’re the only three people left on New World. Us and the sematary ghosts.

“But the war’s not the end of the story,” Viola says quietly.

“No,” Ben says. “The story ain’t finished, ain’t even half finished.”

And I know it ain’t. And I know where it’s heading.

And I changed my mind. I don’t want it to finish.

But I do, too.

I look into Ben’s eyes, into his Noise.

“The war didn’t stop with the Spackle,” I say. “Not in Prentisstown.”

Ben licks his lips and I can feel unsteadiness in his Noise and hunger and grief at what he’s already imagining is our next parting.

“War is a monster,” he says, almost to himself. “War is the devil. It starts and it consumes and it grows and grows and grows.” He’s looking at me now. “And otherwise normal men become monsters, too.”

“They couldn’t stand the silence,” Viola says, her voice still. “They couldn’t stand women knowing everything about them and them knowing nothing about women.”

“Some men thought that,” Ben says. “Not all. Not me, not Cillian. There were good men in Prentisstown.”

“But enough thought it,” I say.

“Yes,” he nods.

There’s another pause as the truth starts to show itself.

Finally. And forever.

Viola is shaking her head. “Are you saying . . . ?” she says. “Are you really saying . . . ?”

And here it is.

Here’s the thing that’s the centre of it all.

Here’s the thing that’s been growing in my head since I left the swamp, seen in flashes of men along the way, most clearly in Matthew Lyle’s but also in the reakshuns of everyone who even hears the word Prentisstown.

Here it is.

The truth.

And I don’t want it.

But I say it anyway.

“After they killed the Spackle,” I say, “the men of Prentisstown killed the women of Prentisstown.”

Viola gasps even tho she’s got to have guessed it, too.

“Not all the men,” Ben says. “But many. Allowing themselves to be swayed by Mayor Prentiss and the preachings of Aaron, who used to say that what was hidden must be evil. They killed all the women and all the men who tried to protect them.”

“My ma,” I say.

Ben just nods in confirmayshun.

I feel a sickness in my stomach.

My ma dying, being killed by men I probably saw every day.

I have to sit down on a gravestone.

I have to think of something else, I just do. I have to put something else in my Noise so I can stand it.

“Who was Jessica?” I say, remembering Matthew Lyle’s Noise back in Farbranch, remembering the violence in it, the Noise that now makes sense even tho it don’t make no sense at all.

“Some people could see what was coming,” Ben says. “Jessica Elizabeth was our Mayor and she could see the way the wind was blowing.”

Jessica Elizabeth, I think. New Elizabeth.

“She organized some of the girls and younger boys to flee across the swamp,” Ben continues. “But before she could go herself with the women and the men who hadn’t lost their minds, the Mayor’s men attacked.”

“And that was that,” I say, feeling numb all over. “New Elizabeth becomes Prentisstown.”

“Yer ma never thought it would happen,” Ben says, smiling sadly to himself at some memory. “So full of love that woman, so full of hope in the goodness of others.” He stops smiling. “And then there came a moment when it was too late to flee and you were way too young to be sent away and so she gave you to us, told us to keep you safe, no matter what.”

I look up. “How was staying in Prentisstown keeping me safe?”

Ben’s staring right at me, sadness everywhere around him, his Noise so weighted with it, it’s a wonder he can stay upright.

“Why didn’t you leave?” I ask.

He rubs his face. “Cuz we didn’t think the attack would really happen either. Or I didn’t, anyway, and we had put the farm together and I thought it would blow over before anything really bad happened. I thought it was just rumours and paranoia, including on the part of yer ma, right up to the last.” He frowns. “I was wrong. I was stupid.” He looks away. “I was wilfully blind.”

I remember his words comforting me about the Spackle.

We’ve all made mistakes, Todd. All of us.

“And then it was too late,” Ben says. “The deed was done and word of what Prentisstown had done spread like wildfire, starting with the few who’d managed to escape it. All men from Prentisstown were declared criminals. We couldn’t leave.”

Viola’s arms are still crossed. “Why didn’t someone come and get you? Why didn’t the rest of New World come after you?”

“And do what?” Ben says, sounding tired. “Fight another war but this time with heavily armed men? Lock us up in a giant prison? They laid down the law that if any man from Prentisstown crossed the swamp, he’d be executed. And then they left us to it.”

“But they must have . . .” Viola says, holding her palms to the air. “Something. I don’t know.”

“If it ain’t happening on yer doorstep,” Ben says, “it’s easier to think, Why go out and find trouble? We had the whole of the swamp twixt us and New World. The Mayor sent word that Prentisstown would be a town in exile. Doomed, of course, to a slow death. We’d agree never to leave and if we ever did, he’d hunt us down and kill us himself.”

“Didn’t people try?” Viola says. “Didn’t they try and get away?”

“They tried,” Ben says, full of meaning. “It wasn’t uncommon for people to disappear.”

“But if you and Cillian were innocent–” I start.

“We weren’t innocent,” Ben says strongly, and suddenly his Noise tastes bitter. He sighs. “We weren’t.”

“What do you mean?” I ask, raising my head. The sickness in my stomach ain’t leaving. “What do you mean you weren’t innocent?”

“You let it happen,” Viola says. “You didn’t die with the other men who were protecting the women.”

“We didn’t fight,” he says, “and we didn’t die.” He shakes his head. “Not innocent at all.”

“Why didn’t you fight?” I ask.

“Cillian wanted to,” Ben says quickly. “I want you to know that. He wanted to do whatever he could to stop them. He would have given his life.” He looks away once more. “But I wouldn’t let him.”

“Why not?”

“I get it,” Viola whispers.

I look at her, cuz I sure don’t. “Get what?”

Viola keeps looking at Ben. “They either die fighting for what’s right and leave you an unprotected baby,” she says, “or they become complicit with what’s wrong and keep you alive.”

I don’t know what complicit means but I can guess.

They did it for me. All that horror. They did it for me.

Ben and Cillian. Cillian and Ben.

They did it so I could live.

I don’t know how I feel about any of this.

Doing what’s right should be easy.

It shouldn’t be just another big mess like everything else.

“So we waited,” Ben says. “In a town-sized prison. Full of the ugliest Noise you ever heard before men started denying their own pasts, before the Mayor came up with his grand plans. And so we waited for the day you were old enough to get away on yer own, innocent as we could keep you.” He rubs a hand over his head. “But the Mayor was waiting, too.”

“For me?” I ask, tho I know it’s true.

“For the last boy to become a man,” Ben says. “When boys became men, they were told the truth. Or a version of it, anyway. And then they were made complicit themselves.”

I remember his Noise from back on the farm, about my birthday, about how a boy becomes a man.

About what complicity really means and how it can be passed on.

How it was waiting to be passed on to me.

And about the men who–

I put it outta my head.

“That don’t make no sense,” I say.

“You were the last,” Ben says. “If he could make every single boy in Prentisstown a man by his own meaning, then he’s God, ain’t he? He’s created all of us and is in complete control.”

“If one of us falls,” I say.

“We all fall,” Ben finishes. “That’s why he wants you. Yer a symbol. Yer the last innocent boy of Prentisstown. If he can make you fall, then his army is complete and of his own perfect making.”

“And if not?” I say, tho I’m wondering if I’ve already fallen.

“If not,” Ben says, “he’ll kill you.”

“So Mayor Prentiss is as mad as Aaron, then,” Viola says.

“Not quite,” Ben says. “Aaron is mad. But the Mayor knows enough to use madness to achieve his ends.”

“Which are what?” Viola says.

“This world,” Ben says calmly. “He wants all of it.”

I open my mouth to ask more stuff I don’t wanna know but then, as if there was never gonna be anything else that could ever happen, we hear it.

Thump budda-thump budda-thump. Coming down the road, relentless, like a joke that ain’t ever gonna be funny.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” Viola says.

Ben’s already back on his feet, listening. “It sounds like just one horse.”

We all look down the road, shining a little in the moonlight.

“Binos,” Viola says, now right by my side. I fish ’em out without another word, click on the night setting and look, searching out the sound as it rings thru the night air.

Budda-thump budda-thump.

I search down the road farther and farther back till–

There it is.

There he is.

Who else?

Mr Prentiss Jr, alive and well and untied and back on his horse.

“Damn,” I hear from Viola, reading my Noise as I hand her the binos.

“Davy Prentiss?” Ben says, also reading my Noise.

“The one and only.” I put the water bottles back in Viola’s bag. “We gotta go.”

Viola hands the binos to Ben and he looks for himself. He takes them away from his eyes and gives the binos a quick once over. “Nifty,” he says.

“We need to go,” Viola says. “As always.”

Ben turns to us, binos still in his hand. He’s looking from one of us to the other and I see what’s forming in his Noise.

“Ben–” I start.

“No,” he says. “This is where I leave you.”

“Ben–”

“I can handle Davy bloody Prentiss.”

“He has a gun,” I say. “You don’t.”

Ben comes up to me. “Todd,” he says.

“No, Ben,” I say, my voice getting louder. “I ain’t listening.”

He looks me in the eye and I notice he don’t seem to be having to bend down any more to do it.

“Todd,” he says again. “I atone for the wrong I’ve done by keeping you safe.”

“You can’t leave me, Ben,” I say, my voice getting wet (shut up). “Not again.”

He’s shaking his head. “I can’t come to Haven with you. You know I can’t. I’m the enemy.”

“We can explain what happened.”

But he’s still shaking his head.

“The horse is getting closer,” Viola says.

Thump budda-thump budda-thump.

“The only thing that makes me a man,” Ben says, his voice steady as a rock, “is seeing you safely into becoming a man yerself.”

“I ain’t a man yet, Ben,” I say, my throat catching (shut up). “I don’t even know how many days I got left.”

And then he smiles and it’s the smile that tells me it’s over.

“Sixteen,” he says. “Sixteen days till yer birthday.” He takes my chin and lifts it. “But you’ve been a man for a good while now. Don’t let no one tell you otherwise.”

“Ben–”

“Go,” he says and he comes up to me and hands Viola the binos behind my back and takes me in his arms. “No father could be prouder,” I hear him say by my ear.

“No,” I say, my words slurring. “It ain’t fair.”

“It ain’t.” He pulls himself away. “But there’s hope at the end of the road. You remember that.”

“Don’t go,” I say.

“I have to. Danger’s coming.”

“Closer and closer,” Viola says, binos to her eyes.

Budda-thump budda-THUMP.

“I’ll stop him. I’ll buy you time.” Ben looks at Viola. “You take care of Todd,” he says. “I have yer word?”

“You have my word,” Viola says.

“Ben, please,” I whisper. “Please.”

He grips my shoulders for a last time. “Remember,” he says. “Hope.”

And he don’t say nothing more and he turns and runs down the hill from the sematary to the road. When he gets to the bottom, he looks back and sees us still watching him.

“What are you waiting for?” he shouts. “Run!”