I scream at the horizon, the sound of a dying, desperate animal. I scream and scream, and the sun beats on, indifferent.

Chapter Thirty-Five

I grab a rock near my feet and hurl it toward the sun.

“Delta.”

Another rock.

“Delta, stop.”

A third, but this time I throw it at the rusted wind wagon that sailed us to our deaths.

“Delta!”

Asher grabs my arm, spins me to face him. I collapse against his chest and sob. He holds me there, one hand in my hair, the other around my back. “It’s going to be okay,” he whispers, which is the biggest scudding lie I have ever heard.

“Asher, we are going to die here,” I say into his shirt. “We don’t have the supplies to get back.”

“Sure we do.”

“It took us six days to get here with a tailwind. Going back will take twice that. Maybe more. We only have a few days of water left, and the inverted wells work too slowly to save us.”

“The storeroom has water. Not a lot, but enough. Bottled and sealed up in some way I’ve never seen. It might be safe, and we can boil it to be sure.”

I step away from him. “Do you hear yourself, Asher?” His brows pull down, wounded. “What’s the point? Even if we make it back to Harlie’s Hope, what then? Go back to Powder Town when we have no way of regaining entry? Return to Dead River and live to die? That’s all anyone can do in these wastes—bide their time until it’s over. And what in the scorched skies am I supposed to do for my pack now? This place was supposed to save them.” I fling a hand at Eden. “This was supposed to be the solution, but there’s no Verdant. There never was. It’s a scudding lie.”

“We’ll figure something out,” he says quietly. He’s looking at me like a snared animal, eyes wide and expectant, as if he’s hoping I’ll cut him free. But there’s no escaping this storm we’re caught in.

“There’s no point.”

“You’re not the person I remember,” he says coldly.

“Oh, and what person is that?” I snap.

“A person who wouldn’t quit when something went wrong.”

“Asher, something didn’t go wrong. Everything did. Everything is a lie.”

“And you’re not the only one struggling to accept that!”

“Exactly. We’re all screwed. So for once, quit it with the sunny optimism and bottomless hope. Just say we’re knee-deep in rot. Say the dust storm is endless and we’re about to be buried alive. Be angry, like me. And if you can’t do that, leave me the hell alone.”

He stares at me, slack-jawed, as if I’ve slapped him. For a long moment the only sound is the wind clawing over the rocks.