“It’s not a toy, exactly,” I say, grabbing Malachai’s legs. “It’s a mobile scrambler—it hides me from Mosquitoes.”

“Uh-huh,” Molly says.

I glance up at the storm clouds, now so dense and dark that Apple-Moth’s battery was struggling to recharge. I know now that Happy is filling that storm cloud full of Mosquitoes and attack drones. Its plan? I’m not sure.

We pick Malachai up and I try to carry him toward a thick area of brush, but Molly pulls him toward the Red Zone.

“This way,” she says.

“We can’t get any closer to the fence,” I say. “The radiation—”

“This way,” she repeats, and again, I notice that odd indolent tone to her voice. Is she back on Ebb?

I look around for a better option. Molly does not have our healing abilities and I don’t want her risking her life in the Red Zone, but the sound of more soldiers approaching makes up my mind, and I follow her.

Molly’s alive, my mind rejoices. She’s alive, she made it out of the vault and she’s still alive.

I’m aware that my thoughts sound a lot like Apple-Moth when the drone was so delighted that Malachai and I had survived the fall from the Arc. In spite of myself and in spite of the situation, this makes me smile.

The dead weight of Malachai feels as though it’s growing heavier with every step, but the fear of capture, of imprisonment, keeps me moving.

“Through here,” Molly, says, gritting her teeth with the effort of lifting the boy.

“We can’t go through there,” I whisper, staring at the gap that has been cut into the wire fence.

“Trust me, Luka,” she says, and ducks into the Red Zone.

I hesitate, knowing the destructive power of the radiation, knowing that even with my healing ability, I won’t survive long. But I trust my sister.

I follow, the muscles in my neck and shoulders tensing involuntarily as I enter the irradiated area.

“How deep are we going?” I ask, feeling the panic start to rise inside me.

“Slightly more than half a mile,” my sister replies.

“Half a mil— We can’t go half a mile into the Red Zone! Do you know what will happen? Our skin will melt off our bones!”

“No, it won’t,” she replies, the strain of carrying Malachai now showing on her face.

“The radiation, Molly, it’s active for another two hundred years.”

“It is,” she says, “but there’s no radiation for another half a mile.”

“What are you talking about?”