He shrugs, and I follow him through the halls, shoveling food into my mouth as we go. I can’t remember the last time I had melon. Maybe as a kid of four or five? The traders haven’t brought it in ages, and we sure couldn’t grow it at Dead River. I lick my lips after eating, practically moaning. To think something this ripe and sweet grew from wasteland soil just several days’ journey from my home.

When we step from the Backbone’s sprawling network of tunnels, Reed pulls his ram-skull mask down to shield his eyes. I squint.

A shrill kree-kree sounds overhead, and a shadow flicks over the ground before Reed’s falcon settles on his shoulder. He turns toward the animal, and I catch a smile on his face as the bird nips playfully at the nose of his mask. “Go on, get outta here.” He jerks his arm, and the bird lifts back into the sky.

“You get a pet if you do all the General’s bidding?” I ask.

He ignores me.

Making our way up the large dirt path that divides the crop fields, I take him in properly for the first time. He’s about a head taller than I am, but the horns on his skull make it feel like more. Unlike the General’s clothes, Reed’s are stained with dust and dirt. There’s a patch on his left elbow. His boots have been mended several times, and the leather ties that wrap up his calves are varying shades. A modified rifle hangs across his back. I’ve never shot one, but it’s tempting to imagine taking it from him. Of course, there are gunners positioned along the rim of the dam, surrounding all of Bedrock, their eyes and barrels scanning the masses. In my weakened state, I probably couldn’t even get the weapon from Reed. Along his shoulders and elbows, there are spikes secured into his leather jacket. One well-placed jab, and I’d go down.

One way in, no way out. He controls everything.

I glance over my shoulder. The Backbone is dizzying from this angle, a towering city that climbs toward the heavens. In the uppermost window, just beside the waterfall, I can make out a figure. Something glints in the sunlight, along the person’s front. The General. His chain necklace.

I look away, scanning the other windows quickly as I bring my gaze back to level ground. There must be hundreds of these windows, and many of the ledges hold what appear to be potted plants. It’s a small bright spot. My pitcher setup will be almost impossible for a guard along the dam to find suspicious.