“Snipers don’ ushally announce demselves.”

Scary to see how shaken he was. “Now what?”

Spunk nodded toward the mudroom. “Doubled da sentries, jus’ in case.”

That gave me a chill. “In case the snipers followed them home?”

“Doubt dey would. But gotta be ’pared fer da worse.”

Danger on the streets we took for granted, but den homes were supposed to be off-limits. Part of the downtown agreement.

“What should I do?”

“ ’Bout what?”

“Um, y’know.” Hated sounding like Jenn, buried to the neck in my own concerns. “My . . . take tonight?”

“Oh. Yeah. Dat.” Like a maybe-diamond bracelet was nothing. He patted my shoulder distractedly. “Wait till da shit die down some, den take it ta ’im.”

“You got it. Thanks.”

I made for the Mess. If there was beer tonight, for once I’d be claiming my share.

ELEVEN

I drank beer at the wake. I shared righteous outrage with my denmates and cheered their fist-shaking schemes of vengeance for our dead and wounded, even if we all went down in a barrage of sniper fire. Jake and Spunk had their hands full keeping the lads from racing right out with whatever sorry arsenal they could scare up—garden tools and kitchen knives? But they weren’t the only ones questioning our no-weapons policy.

Eventually, Rousseau came down from the Ward to announce that the injured would all pull through. He called off the day shift and ordered us to our bunks. When the lads raised a ruckus, he closeted with them in the Mess for a talk down. You could hear them roaring through the doors. In a windowless mess hall surrounded by a big stone building, how could you feel anything but heroic and invincible?

Alone in my bunk, it was a different story.

Rubio’s curtains were pulled tight, but I heard him tossing and coughing as I climbed by. Should’ve knocked to see if he needed anything, but if he went on about tonight’s disaster being Rousseau’s fault, I’d have to yell at him.

It was hotter than ever in the tier. Closing the drapes was like sealing your coffin lid. But I lay there shivering. My precious window on the Lagoon could now be a sniper’s target. The life I’d pieced together since Abel’s Wave was fraying in too many places. Had to hold myself together, not retreat like Jenn had, into monomania or worse.

Reviewing the day: The Causeway and Dark Boy. Spunk. Daniel, whose face was already fading from memory, except for his smile. What sort of life allows you to be so open and trusting? Maybe it was all a front. Even the cheeriest guy might have hidden tragedies.

Go home, he said. Read the book.

Why not? Tired, surely, but too jangled to sleep. Even beer hadn’t softened the edges. So I plucked the cloth-wrapped rectangle from my gut wallet, and took up where I’d left off.