“All right,” Akimi says, whispering, “I’ll go to the depot on Marwick Street, about a mile northwest of here. You guys go to City Level Two; there’s plenty of rich-people houses up there that’ll have Igby’s processy thing.”

“Shouldn’t we stick together?” I ask.

“No,” Sam says, “if we’re going to die it’s better they don’t get all of us.”

“Meet back here in four hours—that’ll be quarter to ten—and we’ll go back to the library together,” Akimi says. She heads off, running low through the old office building.

I’m struck at how cold everyone has become, how hardened against the notion of death. They move headfirst into danger, knowing that every trip into the city could be their last, putting their lives on the line for provisions so that the others can survive a little longer.

How long can this go on? I wonder, and I think about Igby’s plan: Find the Missing, build an army … then what?

“This way,” Sam says, leading the way along several corridors and down a flight of stairs to a fire escape. She pushes the door open a crack and looks out into the fading daylight, aiming her USW first left and then right. “Clear,” she says, and then we’re running toward the graphene stilts that hold up City Level Two.

As we dash across the street, I look up toward the Black Road Vertical, my old home, but something else catches my eye: far off in the distance I see one enormous, thick black cloud. I slow and turn in a circle, trying to find the edge of the cloud, but I can’t. It’s as though the entirety of Region 86 is surrounded by a storm cloud, and we’re at the center of it as it closes in.

“Hurry!” Sam’s voice calls from up ahead.

“Sam, what the hell is that?” I call, pointing up to the sky.

She glances up and I see a momentary look of surprise on her face, but she turns back to me and shrugs. “Big cloud.”

“Yeah,” I reply, looking up one more time, “I guess.”

I try to forget the colossal circular storm cloud and focus on the mission.

I sprint and catch up with Sam. We rest behind one of the stilts and assess our options. There is a ladder to the top that maintenance workers use, or the spiral road that leads to the gates of the luxury real estate.

“The ladder is quicker,” Sam says, “but there’s nowhere to hide if they spot us.”

“So, we take the road?” I ask.

Sam nods and then takes off toward the spiral tarmac. I take a deep breath, trying to beat the exhaustion, and run after her.

The spiral road is steeper than it looked from a distance and sweat is pouring off me by the time I reach the gates. Sam is already halfway up and acrobatically vaulting over as I start climbing.