Tracing the track, I find the zipper handle and battle to unzip it. But I realize it’s going nowhere and I give up and tear at the plastic, digging my fingernails into it until I break through to the outside. I don’t know what to expect, but I’m prepared for the worse. It’s something Monarch taught me. Always expect the worst, that way you’ll be prepared for anything.

Monarch. Thinking of him makes me choke.

I decide not to think about him for a while, until I can get myself together. I collect myself and slash the rest of the way through the body bag. The first things I see are enormous, jagged, and fiery red rocks. The land is rolling hills of sand and the sky is dark with clouds and smoke, but less hazy than in the city, like the sun can almost break free.

“Where am I?”  I mumble, searching for the city. The last thing I can remember is moving to kill Gabrielle.

“Help!” Someone screams.

I spin. Just a few feet in front of me, lying in the sand, is another body bag. And it’s moving. I reach for my knife, surprised to find it’s still in my pocket. I squat down next to the body bag and give it a gentle tap. “Who’s in there?”

A pause. “Kayla?”

“Yeah?”

“Kayla! Kayla!” He yells. “It’s Bernard.”

“I thought you were dead.” I pause, scratching my forehead with the silver handle of my knife. “How do I know it’s really you?”

“Kayla, just let me out of here!” he shouts and then kicks furiously, the body bag bulging up and down.

Keeping my knife in my hand, I unzip the bag. Bernard bursts through the opening, gasping for air, his brown hair sticking up in all kinds of directions.

“Oh my God.  Oh my God.”  He runs his hand through his hair, which only makes it stick up worse. “What the hell happened?”

“I have no idea,” I mumble, searching the desert for more body bags that might be hiding nearby. I swear I can sense someone around. I hike over the shallow hill, my boots filling with sand. The wind is blowing and the air is rough against my cheeks and hair. I spot it, at the foot of the hill, another black body bag. Stealthily, I drop down the hill.

“Where are you going?” Bernard shouts after me.

I shake my head at him and return my attention to the bag. It’s not moving, but my knife remains out, just in case. “Is anyone in there?” I ask.

“Kayla?” a small voice squeaks. “Kayla, is that you?”

I nearly drop my knife. “Maci?”

“Kayla!” She panics, thrusting at the bag from inside. “Get me out of here! Please! I can’t breathe.”