After they died, I found it painful and difficult to accept that the sun shone, the birds sang in the trees, and the world turned without them. Grief is like that. To resist or deny grief does no good. It hurts us to pretend that we are not hurt. Sounds strange, but it’s true.

I know that many of the readers of this book have experienced grief, or will. It’s human to hurt, but all hurts eventually heal. The best path through grief is to celebrate all those things that made the departed person alive. That’s the light to follow. That’s what my friends and I did after Leslie died. We cried, but we also threw a party and told tall tales and we laughed. I know—I absolutely know—that Leslie was laughing right along with us.

And . . . talk about it. As Benny, Nix, Lilah, and Chong talk about grief in these pages. Find someone who will listen. There are always people willing to listen. Always.

If you are having trouble dealing with personal loss, please reach out. To parents, relatives, friends, teachers, coaches, or someone at your place of worship. People will listen, and grief is something that we all share. Don’t let yourself be alone with it.

Part One: A Fall of Angels

PART ONE

A FALL OF ANGELS

The angel of death has been abroad throughout the land; you may almost hear the beating of his wings.

—JOHN BRIGHT

(FROM A SPEECH TO PARLIAMENT, FEBRUARY 23, 1855)

Chapter 1

1

BENNY IMURA THOUGHT, I’M GOING TO DIE.

The hundred zombies chasing him all seemed to agree.

Chapter 2

2

FIFTEEN MINUTES AGO NOTHING AND NOBODY WAS TRYING TO KILL Benny Imura.

Benny had been sitting on a flat rock, sharpening a sword and brooding. He was aware that he was brooding. He even had a brooding face for when other people were around. Now, though, he was alone, and he let the mask fall away. When he was alone, the melancholy musings were deeper, more useful, but also less fun. When you’re alone, you can’t crack a joke to make the moment feel better.

There were very few moments that felt good to Benny. Not anymore. Not since leaving home.

He was a mile from where he and his friends had camped in a forest of desert trees deep in southern Nevada. Every time Benny took another step on the road to finding the airplane he and Nix had seen, every single inch forward, he was farther from home than he had ever been.

He used to hate the idea of leaving home. Home was Mountainside, high in the Sierra Nevada Mountains of central California. Home was bed and running water and hot apple pie on the porch. But that had been home with his brother, Tom. It had been a whole hometown, with Nix and her mother.

Now Nix’s mom was dead, and Tom was dead.

Home wasn’t home anymore.