“Show me,” Arc said, staring at her.

She met his eyes. “We have to act quickly,” she said. “The Northerners are disabling the satellites.”

CHAPTER 29 – THE WATERFALL

Sorrel’s back hurt from poring over the PlAK with Arc for more than two hours. They had started as soon as it was light enough and it had been slow work, because the signal was intermittent, and the screen kept pixelating or freezing. She saw dawn jump across the world in fits and starts. The ships had all detached from the land and become part of the ocean. They had gone in different directions – some heading north, hugging the new coastline of Amerika, some travelling east across the Ocean of Atlantis, some towards the Sea of the Antilles. The first ship heading in their direction was well past Ayiti now. The edge of the dust storm was just touching Boriken. “No more than two days away,” she said.

The screen froze again. Her hair was growing, and her scalp itched. “I need to stand up,” she said to Arc. “And the PlAK needs charging.”

Caroni sat nearby, watching them. Everyone else was asleep in small mounds.

“Get some sleep, Sorrel,” Caroni said.

“It’s hard for me to sleep in the day. I need to walk for a little. I’m really stiff.”

The Zorah nodded.

Sorrel left the cave. The sense of danger and unease which had started in the rain as they left Jiba was growing. Would it be easier to die of hunger? How long would that take? She remembered facing the rain bomb at the cable car and knowing she’d prefer to die fighting.

The grass was wet and shiny; dew, she remembered. She thought it a beautiful word, like waterfall. The sky had a yellowish cast. Her stomach griped; she couldn’t remember when last she had eaten a proper meal. How many centuries would pass before humans would be able to survive on grass?

She heard soft footfalls behind her and swung around, expecting Rapt, and fear rose to her throat, but it was Kes, wiping sleep from his eyes. “D’you want to see the waterfall?” he asked. She nodded, flushed with relief. He led her past the tents to a track at the edge of the valley.

“The path is rough,” he said, holding out his hand. She took it. His palm was dry and rough. She felt suddenly short of breath.

There was not enough room for them to walk abreast and soon he dropped her hand. The rocky trail wound between the trunks of dead trees and clumps of undergrowth and vines, looking much like Jiba after the river started to fall. The plants were wet and so was the air and she liked the feeling of moisture on her skin. Her hand still felt warm from Kes’s palm.

The trail forked and Kes followed the left-hand path. “Where does the other way lead?” Sorrel asked.