I’m amazed by his story. If he is indeed fifteen, and has been here for four years, he was Bree’s age when everyone he knew was killed in one second. How he found the strength and resolve to carry on, I don’t know.

Molly whistles. “That quite a story, Emmanuel,” she says.

He glares at her, at her insensitivity. I can almost feel him screaming in his mind that it’s not a story, it’s his life. Molly’s my friend and I have to remind myself that she hasn’t seen the same kind of pain and devastation as we survivors have. It’s harder for her to empathize with someone like Emmanuel than it is for me. In fact, none of them do. Not Molly, Ryan, or Zeke.

Suddenly, I feel the absence of Ben like a hole in the heart. He’d get it right away. His sensitivity and understanding would be really welcome round about now. But I know that’s not going to happen, so I’m going to have to try and do it myself.

“I’m a survivor too,” I say. “I lived in the mountains in New York. Just me and my sister.”

“Is she dead?” Emmanuel asks.

I shake my head. “No. She’s safe. Happy.” At least, I hope she will be eventually, once she’s gotten over my betrayal.

The rain lashes outside, and the sky is starting to darken. It makes me feel uneasy. With nightfall comes extra danger. Us not being able to see properly gives predators—be they slaverunner, wild creature, or crazies—the advantage. But Emmanuel has survived here alone for years, so it must be safe. Still, the thought of us having to camp out overnight here doesn’t exactly thrill me.

“Why did you leave New York?” Emmanuel asks.

“We had no choice,” I reply. “Slaverunners found us.”

Emmanuel looks confused. “What are slaverunners? Are they the deformed people?”

It takes me by surprise that Emmanuel’s hideout is so cut off from everything that he doesn’t even know what slaverunners are.

“Slaverunners control the cities,” I explain. “They go out looking for survivors to put to work or…” My voice trails away. “To use for entertainment.”

I can feel everyone’s eyes on me. Of all the things that interest my new friends, it’s my time in the arenas that intrigues them the most. I’ve never fully spoken about it as it hurts too much to think of. Recalling memories of Logan is still excruciatingly painful.

“There are still cities?” Emmanuel asks. “With survivors in them?”

“Yes. But they’re dangerous places now. The only safe places are the military-run survivors’ camps. There’s one just north of here. You should go. You’d be safe there.”

“I’m safe here,” Emmanuel replies. “No one bothers me. The only thing that worries me are the deformed people, but they just sail right past.”