“What the hell is that?” said Val.
She was so unnerved that Zoe had to remind her to put the Jeep into park and switch on the hazard lights.
“Dead animals,” said Zoe.
“What kind of dead animals?”
“I don’t know. I can’t tell from here.”
“Well, I can’t get around them. And I’m not driving over them. Screw this. We’re going home.”
“Wait. Just wait.”
Zoe unbuckled her seat belt, and searched Dallas’s backpacks. She found two powder-blue raincoats. She tried to hand one to Val.
“You’re giving me that like you think I’m gonna get out of the car and look at dead things,” Val said. “In what universe?”
She thrust the car into reverse so hurriedly that it landed in drive instead. The car lurched forward.
“Stop!” said Zoe.
She took Val’s hand off the gearshift, and hugged her to calm her down. Their helmets clacked together.
“Stay here,” said Zoe. “I’ll check it out.”
“No, no, no,” said Val, each word a rising note. “We’re going home. Look at those things. I draw the line at really obvious omens.”
Zoe pulled a pair of work gloves from the backpack. They were the creepy kind with rubberized fingertips that look like they’ve been dipped in blood.
“I’m not going home,” she said.
“Yeah, you are,” said Val. “This does not have to happen tonight. Only you think it does.”
Zoe pushed her door open.
“Go if you want to go,” she said. “I won’t be mad.”
“You won’t be mad?” said Val.
Zoe walked away before her friend could say more. Behind her, Val punched at the horn, and shouted, “You suck, Zoe Bissell.”
But she didn’t abandon her.
The animals were a mountain lion and a ram. They’d died in a bend of the road. On the right, the jagged, slate cliff rose into the darkness. On the left, the mountain tumbled precipitously down to the lake. Val’s high beams were still on. The light shot past Zoe. The wet road looked like a shining snake.
The mountain lion lay on its side, its tawny fur wet, its body curled. It seemed to have died peacefully, but when Zoe stood over it, she saw a ring of blood, almost like lipstick, around its mouth. She wondered if it had been hit by a car—or accidently chased the ram off the cliff.
The ram’s eyes were still open. It had died afraid. The poor beast’s neck was twisted backward, its teeth were shattered, and one of its big spiraling horns had broken off. The larger section lay in the road ten feet away. All that was left on the animal’s head was a stub like a devil’s horn. It was coated with blood.
Zoe began dragging the mountain lion to the side of the road by its legs. She could feel how stiff it was, how dead.
From behind her came a gale of noise.
Val was leaning on the Jeep’s horn, as if to say, What are you DOING?
When Zoe got the mountain lion into the weeds, she forced herself to look at it a last time. She felt a pang, like the cat was still alive, like she was deserting it and it knew. She shook off the thought, and went back for the ram.
It was too heavy. She grabbed a foreleg and a hind leg, but got nowhere. She pulled again, harder. Still nothing. She was on the verge of crying when she heard Val get out of the car.
Val had lowered her head to protect her from the hail, and thrust her hands into her raincoat. Zoe knew how much Val hated being there, knew how much she owed her, knew that nothing she could say would be adequate.
She took in Val’s helmet and blue raincoat.
“Do you have to copy everything I wear?” she said.
Val didn’t answer. She peered at the ram out of the corner of her eye, disgusted.
“Don’t look at its face,” said Zoe. “It’s messed up. Just look at me.”
They gripped the ram’s legs, and dragged it toward the shoulder of the road. Val struggled not to look down. Her face trembled with the effort. When they’d been at it for a while, Zoe checked their progress, and saw that they were barely halfway there. They jerked the ram a little farther. It streaked the road with its blood.
Zoe could see that Val was angry. They had a conversation with their eyes.
VAL: If I can’t look down, YOU can’t look down!
ZOE: I just had to see how close we are.
VAL: Are we close?
ZOE: Do you want me to lie?
VAL: OF COURSE I want you to lie!
ZOE: We’re super-super close.
VAL: SHIT! I’m going to throw up.
ZOE: No, you’re not. Just keep looking at me.
VAL: I hate you for making me do this.
ZOE: No, you don’t.
VAL: No, I don’t. But would you do this for ME?
ZOE: I would EAT this thing for you.
VAL: GROSS! Now I’m DEFINITELY gonna throw up.
ZOE: Ha!
VAL: Do you think we’re close NOW? Don’t look. If you look, I’m gonna look. Just tell me if we’re close—and remember to lie.
ZOE: We’re super-super close.
VAL: SHIT!
They left the ram in the weeds with the mountain lion. Val tore off her rubber-tipped gloves and stalked away, recoiling when she saw the swoosh of blood in the road.
Halfway to the car, Val slipped on the hail—Zoe saw the sickening moment when both her feet were in the air—then crashed onto her back.
“I am done,” she said. “I mean it. Are you coming with me or not?”
“We got them out of the road,” said Zoe, helping her stand. “You want to give up now?”
“I wanted to give up a long time ago,” said Val. “I am all about giving up! Are you coming.”
She said it tensely, not bothering with a question mark.
Zoe knew Val was right: X’s father could wait. She couldn’t keep endangering people. She looked around, surprised by how far her obsessiveness had carried them. The hail was relentless. It bounced high off the road, like something boiling in a pot.
“Yes,” she said. “I’m coming.”
Val returned to the car. Zoe looked back at the ram’s broken horn, which lay in the road, a spiral in the moonlight. It seemed wrong to leave it there. She went back for it.
The horn was oddly heavy. Its interior was hollow and slick with blood. There was something mythological about it, something malevolent. Zoe wished she’d never touched it. She walked to the roadside a final time, grimaced at the ram’s frantic face, then set the horn down beside it, like a wreath. She was twenty feet from the car when Val pounded on the car horn again: four long blasts.
She looked at Val: What?! I’m coming! I’m five feet away!
But Val kept honking. Zoe slid her hands under her helmet to cover her ears.
Val pointed at her frantically. Zoe couldn’t figure out why.
Then she realized Val was actually pointing behind her.
Zoe turned in her helmet and raincoat, slow as an astronaut. Only now did the honking cease. The world rushed back in to fill the silence. Zoe heard the hail, the wind, the sound of Val rushing out of the car to help her. Why did Val think she needed help?
The ram.
It was on its feet, and charging.
Zoe wasted a half second wondering if it was a different ram. No, it had only one horn. The other was just a shattered stalk. She wasted another moment wondering if maybe the ram hadn’t really been dead. No, she’d looked right at it. She’d seen the blood around its mouth.
She tried to tell herself she was safe from whatever darkness this was. Regent had said not even a lord could take an innocent life.
It was no comfort now.
The ram flew at her with its head down, like it was rutting season. Zoe turned toward it, and bent her knees to brace herself. She told herself the animal would swerve at the last second, but every time its hooves hit the ground she felt a jolt, as if it were running on top of her heart.
She crouched low, like a wrestler. She’d grab its horns, or what was left of them, and twist them toward the ground. That was what you were supposed to do if this happened—except that this was never supposed to happen. Rams never charged at humans.
She didn’t have time for another thought.
The ram slammed into her stomach, and knocked her backward. She landed hard, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t stand up. It was like she’d been cracked open.
The animal ran at her again. Zoe reached for its horns. She couldn’t get a grip on the busted one—it was too small, too slick with blood—but she grabbed the other and tried to twist the ram away from her, which infuriated it.
Zoe kept her head down so the helmet took most of the blows. It was like the ram thought she’d stolen its other horn. The way it was raging, driving into her, bullying her backward—it was like the ram wanted its horn back.
Zoe kicked and flailed. She heard herself scream, preposterously, “I don’t have it!”
But then Val got to her. Val was there. It was going to be okay. Val was bashing the ram with a backpack.
MORE SURVIVAL SH*T.
Zoe lifted her head—a mistake. The ram sliced her cheek open with its horn. The blood felt warm on her face.
Val struck the ram again and again. She was in a rage of her own. The backpack tore open, spilling out flashlights, protein bars, bandages, rope, a whole mess of things.
The animal gave up on Zoe—and turned on Val.
It knocked her to the pavement, pushing her toward the weeds and the steep slope beyond the road. Val was on her hands and knees, trying to crawl back to the car.
Zoe searched the pile from Dallas’s backpack, hands shaking. She found a can of bear spray and a knife. The knife had a six-inch serrated blade, with a notch at the tip for gutting animals. Zoe put it in her raincoat. She’d use the bear spray if she could.
She rushed to Val. The storm had let up, but the road was speckled with hail. It looked incongruously festive, like a parade had just passed.
“I’m here,” Zoe told Val. “I’m here, I’m here.”
She grabbed the ram’s horn, and tried to spin its head toward her so she could spray it in the eyes. The ram thrashed back and forth. It was obsessed with Val now and refused to turn.
Zoe tore around to the front of the animal, her boots nearly sliding out from under her. She’d try for its eyes one more time before resorting to the knife. She’d never stabbed anything, living or dead. It occurred to her that she didn’t even know which the ram was.
The ram slammed Val’s back with its forehead. Its horn got stuck in a rip in her raincoat. It yanked her up and down, trying to shake loose. Zoe couldn’t get a clear shot at its eyes.
She drew the knife from her pocket, and stuck the animal in the side. She felt the blade pierce the hide, heard it sink into the flesh. It was a nauseating sound. Zoe knew, even then, that she wouldn’t forget it.
The ram reared up in shock, and glared at her. It was in no danger of dying, Zoe could see that. But it looked at her with something like outrage—and she unloaded the pepper spray into its eyes.
The ram staggered away, the knife in its side like a lance in a bull. It vanished behind the car.
Zoe bent over Val, who lay in a fetal position. She tried to uncurl her, but Val was too afraid. She clenched more tightly at Zoe’s touch. She wouldn’t even let her unstrap her helmet.
“It’s just me,” Zoe said softly. “Just me.”
Val answered in a shivering voice.
“Okay … Thank you … Okay.”
It crushed Zoe to see Val shaking. She leaned down and put a palm against the shaved side of her head. Val’s face was cut and bruised.
“Are you okay?” said Zoe. “I’m so friggin’ sorry.”
“Your cheek,” said Val.
“Who cares. Can you get up?”
“I think so. Crap. My back.”
“Go slow.”
“The ram … How was—how was that thing alive? Is this more Lowlands shit?”
Zoe wished she didn’t have to answer.
“Yeah,” she said. “It has to be. But we’re okay. We’re safe. The Lowlands can’t actually hurt us.”
The statement seemed to trigger something in Val. She got to her feet, refusing Zoe’s help and shouting, “WTF??”—only with the real words and several extra F’s.
“What do you mean, they can’t ‘actually’ hurt us?” she demanded. “We are bleeding actual blood. What the hell is up with you?”
Zoe was about to answer, when she heard footsteps. She took a flashlight from the supplies littering the ground—Dallas, in his optimism, had already written MINGYU on it—and swept the road. She saw nothing. Still, she had the prickly sensation that someone was racing just ahead of the light. Taunting her. She made a faster circle, trying to catch up with them. Nothing. No one. There was a noise near the cliff. She jerked the flashlight back. She saw—
Dervish.
She’d never seen him before, but it had to be him. He was repulsive: fussily perfect white robes, tacky diamond jewelry, sunken cheeks, skin the sickly gray of meat that had been left on the counter for days. Zoe felt only fury when she looked at him. He had persecuted X relentlessly. He’d leveled her family’s house while Jonah, terrified, hid in an empty freezer in the basement.
She told Val to stay where she was. She walked toward him. Whatever part of her brain was supposed to light up when she was in danger had been overtaxed for too long. The bulb had burned out.
“I know who you are,” she said. “And I know you can’t hurt us.”
“Regent divulged that, did he?” said Dervish. “Along with being a traitor, he takes the fun out of nearly EVERYTHING. Yet ask yourself if you are absolutely certain that I won’t kill you anyway, and deal with the consequences later. Do I SEEM predictable?”
He raised a hand and somehow deflected the flashlight beam away from his face, like his palm was a mirror.
“Why are you here?” said Zoe. “What do you want?”
She’d expected him to be furious, but he seemed … amused. Curious. Zoe could tell he was sizing her up, trying to understand how she could have inspired so much rebellion.
“Oh, I want so many things,” said Dervish. “I shall begin with the most pressing: I want you to abandon your search for X’s father.”
“Why?” said Zoe. “Why do you care—except that you’re dead and obviously a dick?”
“How brazen you are!” said Dervish. “What on earth are they teaching girls up here these days?”
He didn’t seem to expect an answer.
“Science,” said Zoe. “Core strength. How to stand up to assholes.”
Dervish smiled. His mouth was practically lipless. It looked like it had been sliced into his face with a knife.
“You amuse me, Zoe Bissell,” he said, “so I shall tell you why I won’t let you find X’s father. It’s because it will jeopardize the secrecy of the Lowlands—and because I am MORTALLY sick of the trouble you cause. Shall I tell you something funny? You have already SEEN X’s father. He stood in the storm begging for assistance. You and your mangy friend sailed past him without a care.”
Zoe flinched: the man by the car.
“No clever reply?” said Dervish. “No riposte? Good. Listen to me, little girl. The more you encourage X, the more I shall make him suffer. It’s simple physics: for every action, a reaction. As Sir Isaac would say, Actioni contrariam … Actually, never mind. You don’t strike me as someone who speaks Latin. I have made my point.”
“X is innocent,” said Zoe.
“I DO NOT CARE,” said Dervish. “The Lowlands aren’t a country estate. If one soul breaks its laws, a thousand others will follow suit. You have given X hope, which anyone can tell you is fatal. Was it you who inspired X’s mad quest to find his mother? Does he believe that if he finds her you will love him more?”
Zoe meant to say nothing.
“He’s doing it for himself,” she said.
“Is he?” said Dervish. “Or is he doing it to impress YOU—to prove that he is worthy, that he is WHOLE? Now I must find him, and punish him just as I punished his mother. I must dump him into a hole inside a hole inside a hole—somewhere the light cannot find. All because you ‘loved’ him.” He waited for a reply, and when Zoe didn’t speak he added, “You were not as fierce an adversary as I had hoped. Go home, Zoe Bissell. You are not needed anymore.”
Val crossed the road to lead Zoe back to the car. Dervish noticed her partially shaved head, and called out, “Was it lice?”
With a bored flick of a finger, he opened a portal to the Lowlands in the cliff. Zoe watched as it turned orange, then red, then orange again.
“Didn’t you ever love anybody?” she said.
Dervish surprised her by answering.
“You expect me to say no,” he said. “Yet I did. Not in the way you think. It ended tragically, as love of every kind always does. Believe this or not, but I am doing you and X a kindness.”
Val tried to steer Zoe away but Zoe wouldn’t turn from Dervish. Couldn’t. The image of X in some hole, lonelier even than before she met him—she couldn’t shake it.
Dervish seemed to know her thoughts.
“What you have done is impressive, in a way,” he said. “You have taken someone whose life was already a misery and made it a hundredfold worse. X sacrificed what little he had for you. Tell me, what did YOU ever sacrifice for him?”
Dervish lit the far side of the road with a sweep of his hand.
The dead mountain lion rose up out of the weeds.
It shook the hail from its coat—it looked as though it were shedding stars—and slunk toward Zoe and Val, the black tip of its tail sweeping the ground.
“I must leave you,” said Dervish, turning to the portal. “My friend here will see to it that you pursue X’s father no further.”
The mountain lion came slowly at first, its back undulating up and down, like its body was made of water.
“Get on my back,” said Val. “Get on my back.”
Zoe looked at her, bewildered.
A half second went by.
“What’s wrong with you!” said Val. “Do it!”
Zoe climbed on her friend’s back, as if she were riding piggyback, and only then did she understand: the way to scare off a predator was to make yourself big, to make yourself loud.
The mountain lion picked up speed. Its eyes shone green.
“Flap your coat!” said Val.
Zoe did as she was told, but even now, she was thinking about X and watching Dervish walk to the swirling hole in the cliff.
She felt herself wave her raincoat like wings. It was like someone else was doing it.
Dervish looked back at them, grinning.
He knew where X’s mother was. He was going to dump X into a hole inside a hole. What had Zoe ever sacrificed?
Val wobbled beneath her. She screamed threats as the mountain lion charged: “GET AWAY! WE’RE NOT DEER! DO WE LOOK LIKE DEER?!”
Zoe heard herself start screaming, too. She didn’t know what words she was using, or if they even were words.
Dervish was almost at the portal.
Val staggered beneath her, losing her balance. She was strong, but not much bigger than Zoe. They fell to the ground just as the mountain lion leaped.
Zoe felt a rush of air. She saw the cat’s claws, the white fur of its belly.
The animal shot over their heads, and disappeared down the road.
Dervish had been bluffing. Zoe knew that now. The ram and the mountain lion had confirmed what Regent had said: the Lowlands could not kill her.
She threw off the helmet and raincoat and gloves.
“I’m going to be okay,” she told Val. “Don’t worry about me.”
“What are you talking about?” said Val.
They were both winded, panting.
“Don’t tell anybody where I am,” said Zoe. “Make something up.”
“What are you talking about?” said Val. “You’re scaring me.”
Dervish vanished into the hole in the cliff. The portal was orange.
Zoe sprinted across the road. Val shouted something at her, she didn’t know what.
Zoe rushed through the portal after Dervish.
It had just gone red.
Up close, it looked like a ring of fire.