Jax is inconsolable.
We’ve abandoned Holloway House and are holed up on Beale. The gilded lobby mocked us with its shine when we stumbled into the apartment like abandoned dogs.
It’s a small apartment that still smells new. It’s not fit for more than two people, with white walls and large furniture that dominates the room.
From my place on the couch, I curl up tighter, my throat raw from sobbing. I can’t unsee it. The reflection of my face in the blood. His limbs splayed awkwardly, covered in the tattoos he so carefully designed. The wings of the Herons spray painted on his back.
The world will tell us that he got what he deserved, that we got what we deserved. They are wrong, so wrong. Micah wanted out. He wanted a loyal dog and pine trees and breathable air.
Jax wails from the next room. Pounds on the walls. Screams—then goes silent again. I have never known a person less worthy of comfort yet so sincere in despair.
We should bury him, I beg Jax silently. Bury him properly. Give him honors if those exist. A twenty-one-gun salute. Anything and everything and—
Nianna clears her throat. “We’ll have to tell his parents.”
I nod, numb. We have nothing but the clothes on our backs, a few necessities stocked in the kitchen and bathroom, and each other. There’s nothing to be said, so we don’t say anything. A cough here, a sniffle there. The room is warm thanks to the thermostat, but suddenly I can’t stand that either.
Without a word, I get up, pull open the sliding-glass door, and go out onto the balcony. It’s a tiny triangle with metal-and-glass railings so clear I could reach through them and fall into the open air. The lights of downtown give me just enough of a glow to see where I’m stepping. The symphony of cities echoes from far below me. Cars honk. Crosswalks beep. And none of it matters.
Micah can’t be dead. But he is. My body buckles and I vomit over the railing. I don’t stop until there’s nothing more, nothing left inside me but bile and anguish.
Soul and feet dragging, I join the others inside. There’s a knock at the front door. Three short bursts, followed by two slow ones. My heart leaps to my throat, but a moment later I remember that the pattern is Stag code. Mako opens the door. Jaws carries the IRIS machine with all the reverence you’d give an armed bomb. He places it on the counter and plugs it in. The lights stay dark—no new messages. The Young Herons aren’t even going to gloat about it.
I crawl back into my corner of the sofa, eyelids getting heavier once I lie down all the way. I unzip my sweatshirt and drape it over my shoulders, but it’s about as good at being a blanket as it is at bringing me any comfort. Closing my eyes, I imagine myself back home in my bed, Mom’s protective arms around my shoulders.
But I’m here. And I’m sick with despair.
I’m not sure if any of us actually sleeps. Mako lies on the floor right next to Kate. They rest with their hands entwined. When I stretch out, my toes touch Kate’s. She moves hers away. Nianna is the last one standing. The sliding door opens and shuts, and in the quiet I hear her voice, her crying. She’s calling the others, I realize. They have to know Holloway isn’t secure.
Dawn comes, bleary and unwelcome, and I’m the first awake, but I feel as if I’ve been up all night. My arm aches from how I slept on it. Turning onto my other side, I watch the morning sunshine fill the room. My first day on this planet without Micah on it, too.
When I finally get up, I walk silently over to the kitchen to see what we’re working with in terms of food. Even though I don’t want to eat, I know I need to.
A twelve-pack of beers, a half-dozen eggs, and an old chunk of cheddar cheese are all that stare back at me. The cabinets aren’t much better—crackers, a stale box of cereal, coffee grounds, and a jar of peanut butter.
I make sandwiches out of the peanut butter and crackers, smoothing the spread onto each one slowly. I make enough for myself, then more. Somewhere around the last few crackers, I cry again.
Over by the door, Jaws clears his throat. When I turn, he motions to the crackers, and I bring some over to him. He takes one and chews it slowly.
“Why are you here?” I whisper. He cocks an eyebrow. “I mean, no offense, but it’s pretty obvious that you’re older than the rest of us. Why are you here? Don’t you have a family? Wife, kids?” I motion to the others. “Don’t you have something you’d rather be doing that watching out for us?”
“Jax’s mother is an old friend. She helped me get into this country. Now all I see is suffering. All of you suffer. I try to keep the suffering out. I failed. I am sorry.”
Jaws takes another cracker sandwich. Then he pulls the gun from its holster and turns it over in his hands, murmuring to himself like he’s praying, as if there’s a god who’ll pity him, pity us.
Jax comes out of the bedroom around eleven. He says nothing and goes straight for the bathroom, where he showers for an hour. When he turns off the water, he disappears into the bedroom again and shuts the door behind him.
Mako gets us all sandwiches from a deli downstairs. When he comes back, Kurt is there with him, red-eyed and hollow. He gives us each a hug. “I can’t believe it,” he says when he gets to me. “I just can’t.”
I don’t want to eat, but I force the bread and turkey down, chewing slowly. Each bite pulls me a little closer toward being human, which isn’t saying much.
Jax opens the bedroom door. Mako tosses him a sandwich, and he catches it.
“What are you going to do?” I ask him.
Nianna nudges my shoulder. “Give the guy a second.”
“No. Jax, what are you going to do? What are we going to do?”
The man in front of me is changed. Unrecognizable. The arrogance is gone.
There is only anger.
“First,” he says. “We’ll say goodbye. Then I’m going to find who did this and rip out their fucking throat.”
“Are you going to call his dad?” asks Nianna.
“I got ahold of him for all of ten seconds. I told him it was me, and he gave me some choice words about his son’s decisions then hung up.”
I flinch—Micah was his son. How could anyone be so heartless?
Jax goes over to IRIS, and the rest of us watch, mesmerized, as his hands fly over the keypad. He holds down the pound sign. The machine buzzes. Message sent.
“Let’s go to Holloway,” he says. “We’ll get the guns and anything else you want to keep.”
My chest tightens. The blood. Micah’s body. “I can’t go in there.”
Jax looks to Jaws, still at his hallway perch. The latter nods.
“Micah’s out.”
“Where?”
“With a friend,” Jaws answers in a tone that must be the gentlest he can muster. “We’ll go see him. Soon.”
Jax travels to Holloway alone. Says he won’t have any more of us dying for his sake. He’ll take the train after us. “They wanted me, they fucking got me,” he said bitterly as we left for the station.
We get out at Balboa. It’s pouring rain and none of us are prepared. Water weighs down my sweater so much that by the time we make it to the house, it’s nearly off my shoulders.
The door is open. The door is never open.
I turn and throw up in the bushes. Mako pats my back and I tell them to go ahead.
The three of them go inside as I rip petals from the flowers. Kate opens the garage door, its squeaks and screeching more jarring than before. My room feels frozen and immovable, like a still-life painting.
Shivering, I change into fresh clothes, then pause and look around. There’s nothing here I want—not even my knife, which would have been the first thing I turned to before. But Micah wouldn’t have wanted that. He would have wanted me to reach out, be stronger with people around me. I’ll do better, I promise. Just as soon as we find who did this to you.
It takes most of my courage to go up the stairs and into the room. It takes the rest of it to pass the couch. Not a drop of Micah remains. I keep walking.
The door to the bedroom creaks.
His bed is made. Of course it’s made. I was there, but seeing it sharpens my pain: he’ll never sleep here again. Opening the closet, I dig through his pile of laundry until I find the right jacket. I find what I need in the right-side pocket and tuck it into my own.
We leave Holloway for good and take a series of buses to the edge of the city, a part that I’m not familiar with. A man in a dark jacket waits at the front door of the funeral home and lets us in. Next to him are Cameron and Juliet—the former his usual sullen self, and the latter totally silent. She hugs Nianna first, then pushes her back with a shake of her head.
“Closed?” Jaws asks the man. The mortician nods and unlocks the door. Jaws shakes the man’s hand, and he isn’t subtle enough for me to not see a stack of money changing hands.
Micah’s body lies in a casket of warm-colored wood. Chairs line the edges of the room and low lights above us provide just enough light to be considered appropriate. Vases bursting with flowers give off a weighty perfume. My body falls against the wall and I sink to the ground, feeling sick. “I don’t like small places,” Micah had told me. “Never have.”
This can’t be real. He can’t be dead.
“Take all the time you need,” the mortician tells Jaws.
In the corner is a small stand for people to light candles. Kate goes over to it and lights one, then a second. She keeps on lighting them, and we watch until all the candles are glowing.
“There’s not enough.” She starts to cry, standing so still, as if moving would make it worse. Mako gets up and puts his arms around her. “Babe, there’s not enough.”
“I know,” he says softly. “I know.”
We stay a while, sniffling and silent. The flickering candlelight casts wild shadows on the wall, and when I can’t bear to look at the casket anymore, I watch the shadows move and change. Kurt, Juliet, and Cameron arrive separately, and we trade hugs and muffled sobs into each other’s shoulders. None of this is real. It can’t be.
Juliet puts her arm around me. “He was such a good one.”
In the corner, away from us, Jax sits alone, his face buried in his hands.
We finally crawl back to Beale, heavy with exhaustion. Jax tells Kurt and the others to stay in the Mission in case the Boars need them—Beale’s too small for us all anyway.
Over on the polished counter, the IRIS machine is lit up. For reasons I don’t know, I follow behind Jax and read the message with him.
“All right then,” he says. “It’s done.”
I take the note. Golden Gate Park. Friday at midnight. I get to the end and frown.
“The Boars are coming too?”
“They’re part of the Wars,” Jax replies. “I need them there if we’re going to end this, once and for all.”
“Do you think you can?”
He doesn’t answer right away. “I don’t know.”
A cruel part of me wants to say that this wouldn’t have happened if he’d gone to the hospital himself. But even though I want to scream it, I know it’s too unkind of a thought to give life to. It’s nothing he doesn’t already know. Nothing he won’t live with for the rest of his life. There’s no group he can join, no place he can run to get rid of this guilt, sure as the Stag tattoo on his heart.
Instead, I say, “You’re going to kill Camille.”
He kisses me on the forehead and I don’t care that everyone sees.
“I’m going to kill every Heron there.”