We will rebuild, we will recover . . .

—BARACK OBAMA,
ADDRESS TO CONGRESS, FEBRUARY 24, 2009

West, Christopher, and Jude worked together to find as much wood as they could to build a large fire, right in the center of the gravel parking lot.

West didn’t have the energy to go into any more buildings and try to find one that wasn’t filled with the remains of virus victims. I’ve got you all set up in the big building on the south end of Virginia City. That was what Waverly wrote. Obviously, they’d gone into the wrong big building.

West wasn’t ready to think about the alternative—that Waverly had written about preparing the Fourth Ward School building for them, but hadn’t actually done it.

“How did he not notice a huge room full of bones?” Christopher asked, quietly. “How did he not warn us about that?”

“It might have been too much for him to clear out by himself,” Jude said.

“He could have warned us.”

All of their arms were full of pale, dry branches that were uncomfortably like the bones in the building. West shifted his pile. “Let’s just get all these kids fed and warm. We’ll figure out the rest in the morning.”

By the time the sun set, they had a decent fire going, and kids were sitting around it eating out of jars of peaches and pickles and green beans that they’d brought from the ranch. It wasn’t a hot meal—but it was food. And it broke West’s heart to see the Foster City kids eating it like it might be the last nourishment they’d see in a while.

He lay back on his own blanket and watched the flames, listening to Phire tell a story about how he’d shot a deer with Waverly’s hunting rifle. They’d used pictures in one of the old scientist’s books to figure out how to clean and butcher it.

West turned onto his back and looked up at the sky. It was a clear night, and the stars looked low enough for him to reach up and touch. He wasn’t in the mood for beauty, though. They had a few gallons of fresh water with them. Tomorrow they’d have to look for a well with a pump that didn’t need electricity to run.

At the very least, they’d need a stream of fresh water they could boil before they drank. If they didn’t have some source of water, they’d have to get back on the road tomorrow, and he couldn’t even think about that. Not tonight.

Waverly had lists of food stores, an inventory of medical supplies, addresses of houses that he’d prepared for them to use when the time came. Why hadn’t he talked about water? Or generators? Or wood. Did he have firewood stocked? If not, they’d have to spend the next couple of weeks getting that in order.

“Why would he tell us to go to that building, and leave the bodies inside?” Clover asked.

West sat up and moved over on his blanket so that his sister could sit next to him. Mango was with her, on his lead, and settled with his head in her lap.

“I honestly don’t know,” he said. “It doesn’t make sense.”

Clover turned to look at the building, and West followed her gaze. It looked menacing in the flickering firelight. It didn’t help that his head was still reeling with the memory of it being full of the bones of victims of the same virus that had scarred him.

Isaiah’s face wasn’t scarred by the virus, the way West’s was. Maybe that was why Bridget—

“That isn’t why she stayed,” Clover said. West dropped his hand from his cheek. She wasn’t usually that good at reading him. “She just got scared, I think.”

He stood up and walked closer to the fire, held his hands to it, and warmed them. The kids were starting to fall asleep. He had a feeling they wouldn’t be so easy for very long. It was like they were in some kind of shock, following along with whatever they were told, and sleeping whenever possible.

Eventually Clover stood up and took Mango back to where she’d set up to spend the night. He watched her walk to the other side of the fire and lie on a blanket, too close to Jude Degas. It said a lot that figuring out what was going on between the two of them was so far down on his list of things to worry about. Mango settled down between them, and West decided that at least for tonight, he’d let the dog keep them honest.

—

West woke at dawn. It was cold enough that his breath left him in visible clouds, but the fire still emitted enough heat to keep them all from hypothermia.

Christopher and Marta slept several feet from him. She was curled against his back, her arm around his waist, her face against his shoulder blade. West reached a foot out and tapped the sole of Christopher’s boot. “Wake up.”

Christopher kicked his foot out, then turned, still mostly asleep. Marta shifted with him and pressed against his chest. Something clenched hard in West’s belly and for a second he felt sick. He kicked Christopher’s shin, probably harder than he needed to, and his friend sat straight up, forcing Marta to sit up as well.

“We have to go back to the ranch,” West said.

Marta rubbed her eyes. “Right now?”

“If Bennett finds it, we’ll lose our supplies. I’m afraid Waverly didn’t set us up here as well as we hoped. Even if he did, we should get what we can and bring it back.”

Christopher stretched his long body. “Who’s going?”

“I’m thinking you, me, and Clover can take the three vehicles. Marta and Jude can organize the others to clean out the building and start searching for resources. We’re going to need water most of all. Some source of fresh water.”

Marta stood up. “Are we peeing in the fields or what?”

“For now,” West said.

She walked away, toward the nearest building.

“I’m going with you.”

West turned toward Jude’s voice on the other side of the fire. It took a minute for him to realize that Jude meant with them to the ranch, not with Marta. “You can do more good here.”

“There are plenty of people here. I’m going.”

There was no point in arguing. Marta and Phire could manage the new kids and get the essential work started. “Fine. In an hour.”

—

An hour later, West was in the van, pulling out of Virginia City, following Clover and Jude in the car and Christopher in the station wagon. They’d unloaded all three vehicles and taken the extra seats out of the larger two. It surprised West that Clover had left Mango behind with Marta. She didn’t want him with them if they got caught, he decided.

Driving back to the ranch was the first time West had been alone since the river. Since realizing that Bridget wasn’t coming back. Since realizing that his girl had chosen his best friend, and that his best friend had let it happen. He couldn’t shake the mental image of Bridget and Isaiah together. Her father would be happy. Isaiah was a guard. He had a bright future.

She was better off. West knew it, even if he was still staggered by what had happened. She was safer in the city—safer still if she told what she knew to Bennett. Isaiah could protect her and be with her in a way that West would never be able to.

If he really loved her, he would hope that she did give in to whatever pressure Bennett and her father put on her for her own protection. He wasn’t good enough for her in the city—he’d known that since he was Clover’s age. He had nothing at all to offer her now. Nothing.

He slammed the heel of his hand on the steering wheel hard enough to bruise, and to cause him to veer out of his lane for a second. He straightened out, and knew that Clover had seen him falter.

“Goddamn it.”

He yelled, “Goddamn it,” again, as loud as he could, then followed it with a string of expletives that let go some of the steam building inside him. By the time they neared the ranch, he had convinced himself that he could hold it together just for today. If he thought beyond today, he’d lose his mind.

His feet registered what he saw as he turned into the ranch’s long driveway before his brain did, and he slammed on his brakes hard enough that Clover rear-ended him. His chest slammed into the steering wheel, but he could not take his eyes off Bridget, who stared back at him.

She wore black pants and a red wool coat buttoned up to her chin. Her face was pale and her eyes were wide as she stared at him. She looked like he felt. Like she’d seen a ghost.

Clover was out of her car before she saw what he saw, and he turned in time to see her backpedal.

All of the weight that had settled on him since realizing that Bridget had stayed in the city lifted, and for one brilliant moment he felt light enough to fly. Somehow Bridget had left the city on her own and come to the ranch looking for him. He took a step toward her.

She shook her head, panic changing her face, and then looked over her shoulder toward the main house. He followed her gaze and saw her father’s little white car, gold Academy seal glimmering on the driver’s-side door, parked beside it. Go. He saw her mouth form the word, even though her voice didn’t carry to him.

He opened the van door, not quite sure if he planned to run or drive into the ranch and fight for her. Bridget was already fair, but her face went dead white.

“West,” she said, this time just loud enough for him to hear the desperation in her voice. “Go!”

He couldn’t bear to hear her voice saying his name. The sound of it rattled around in his chest, breaking what was left of his heart. She wasn’t here for him. She’d brought her father to the ranch. Was it just her father? Was Isaiah in the big house, too? Other guards? Bennett? He turned away from her finally, searching, but didn’t see any other vehicles.

Jude was there then, grabbing his arm, pulling him back. The van and the car had not collided hard enough to cause real damage, but it would take maneuvering to back them both out of the driveway. Clover was already in the station wagon, in the front seat next to Christopher, waving at him to come quick.

He looked back at Bridget. “What have you done?”

She looked sick with her arms wrapped around her belly and her hair hanging limply and loosely around her shoulders. “I didn’t . . . I couldn’t . . . Oh God, West, go. My dad.”

Jude yanked on his arm and he pulled away from the other boy, wrenching his shoulder, but backed away from Bridget on his own. “Get in the car, Jude. Back it up.”

He didn’t even know if Jude had enough of the basics of driving to do it, but he got back into the van and waited. It didn’t matter anyway. Clover came running from the station wagon and slipped behind the wheel.

Kingston might come out looking for his daughter at any moment. If he did, there would be nowhere for them to hide.

Christopher backed the station wagon out of the driveway, and then Clover got the car out onto the highway as well. West couldn’t tear his eyes away from Bridget as he followed. Five minutes later the three vehicles pulled onto a dirt road off the main highway.

“West?” Clover knocked on the window. “Open up, West.”

It took concerted effort to pry a hand from his death grip on the steering wheel and roll the hand-cranked window down. He inhaled the sharp, cold air that blasted into the van. “She brought her father to the ranch.”

“I know it. I saw her, too.”

He turned to look at his sister. Jude left the car and walked toward them. “She brought her father to the ranch,” West said again. He couldn’t wrap his head around it.

“We have to wait for them to leave,” Clover said.

“What?” He tried to pull himself back from the edge of the cliff that seeing Bridget had brought him to.

“We need our supplies.”

“We have to get back to Virginia City,” Jude said, coming up behind Clover. “Now.”

“We have two more doses for each of those kids.” Clover pointed at Jude and then herself. “And for each of us, too.”

“Jude’s right,” West said. He looked through his rearview mirror and saw Christopher walking back to the entrance to the dirt road to keep an eye out. “For all we know the whole guard is on its way.”

“You think Bridget and her dad would be here alone if they’d already told the guard?” Clover asked.

West’s thoughts swung wildly, from Jude’s point to Clover’s. She was probably right. Most likely, Bridget had panicked and told her father and he made her bring him to the ranch. She had no way of knowing that the Freaks had escaped.

Bridget had to have believed that she was walking her father right into the center of the rebellion. “Son of a bitch.”

“West, we need those doses. And we need whatever else we can get out of the ranch after they leave.”

He ran a hand through his hair, stalling. “How is the car running?”

“It’s fine.”

“Christopher.” He called out to where the other boy stood at the end of the dirt road watching the highway. “Christopher, do you see anything?”

“Nothing.”

“Shit.” He looked away, into the trees. As if there were some answers there. “Okay, let’s just wait and see. Get these cars farther off the road, out of sight.”

—

“There’s no way they set themselves up like that,” Kingston said.

Bennett’s chest felt tight, like a fist squeezing him from the inside. What did a heart attack feel like? He held himself stiff, straight, refusing to let the headmaster see how upset he was. “Waverly, then.”

“That’s what Bridget said.”

“Did she say where he is now?” The air in his office felt as heavy as lead to him, but Kingston didn’t seem to notice.

“Just gone. She doesn’t know where.”

Kingston didn’t know how delicately balanced his daughter’s life was. Waverly was involved with the past summer’s hysteria. Bennett hadn’t been entirely sure when he killed him, although the return of the Kingston and Donovan girls so soon after gave him some idea. “You believed her?”

“Of course, I believed her.”

“You should have told me about this ranch before you left the city with your daughter.”

Kingston’s forehead broke out in beads of sweat, even though he had the authority to leave the city and hadn’t technically gone outside his bounds. Bennett didn’t care about technicalities. He had the authority to put Kingston in front of the firing squad.

“Yes, sir,” Kingston said, his tone satisfyingly deferential, tinged with fear. “I didn’t expect to do more than take a peek, find the ranch, and report back. Bridget was surprised that it was empty.”

“Did it look like they’d abandoned it?”

“Impossible to tell. There were chickens and goats left behind, provisions enough to last a year or more, a supply of suppressant.”

“And you left it all there.”

Kingston fidgeted with his fingers in his lap. He sat prim and proper, his posture painfully straight. “I didn’t want to alert them.”

“Did you think about what you were going to do if they came back while you were there?”

The headmaster’s face fell. “I . . . I didn’t . . .”

“Start at the beginning. Tell me everything.”

“You asked me to bring Clover Donovan to you.”

Bennett didn’t stop Kingston from talking, but he couldn’t repress a deep sigh. He hardly needed a recitation of his own actions.

“I went to the dorms myself,” Kingston said, emphasizing myself. “My daughter was alone in her room with her bodyguard. They were both distraught. I asked about Miss Donovan, and Bridget told me she was gone.”

“Just like that? She didn’t put up a fight at all?” Bennett leaned forward, crowding Kingston some, so he could watch his face carefully. “You didn’t have to coax it out of her.”

“No. She told the truth immediately.”

“Go on.”

“I asked her where Clover had gone. She told me about the ranch. It’s the old Ponderosa theme park. That’s all there was.”

“Did Isaiah Finch go with you outside the walls?”

Kingston shook his head. “I took Bridget and left immediately.”

Bennett was somewhat alarmed by how badly he wanted to hurt Adam Kingston. He was aware that he was feeling a transference of anger and frustration. It was losing Clover Donovan, again, that had him so upset. Even worse, it was realizing that he hadn’t been able to use the time portal or his Time Mariners to warn himself that he would lose her.

That didn’t mean that breaking the nervous little man’s neck wouldn’t feel exquisitely satisfying.

“Did she say who was living at the ranch?”

“It was empty, but a group had clearly been living there. I saw crops growing, signs of maybe half a dozen people.”

This was the important question. Clover Donovan had seen her father only twice since returning to the city. Leanne Wood hadn’t been to see her. The only people the girl spent time with were the headmaster’s daughter and her guard. “Who is Clover Donovan close to at the Academy? Who are her friends?”

Kingston’s tongue darted over his bottom lip. “Only Bridget and her guard. She grew up with Isaiah.”

“No one else?”

Under different circumstances, Bennett might have found Kinston’s fidgety nerves as he wrestled with telling the truth amusing. “Just a boy from Foster City. Jude Degas, but I don’t think—”

“I want to talk to Jude Degas. Make that happen today.”

“Yes, sir.”

Bennett lifted his phone. “Karen, I want Isaiah Finch in my office ASAP. He’s with the guard. I don’t know where, just find him.”

“Langston, I think it’s possible that West Donovan—”

“I know what’s possible,” Bennett said. “I want Clover Donovan. If her brother isn’t dead already, he will be. Soon.”