“I want to go where I can do what I couldn’t do at Thurmond,” Martin said, finally.

I didn’t want to know what he meant by that.

“I’m a lot more powerful than you think,” he continued. “You won’t need anyone else after you see what I can do.”

Cate smiled. “That’s what I’m counting on. I knew you’d understand.”

“What about you, Ruby?” she asked, turning to me. “Are you willing to make a difference?”

If I said I no, would they let me go? If I asked to go to my parents’ house in Salem, would they take me there—no questions asked? To Virginia Beach, if I wanted to see my grandmother? Out of the country, if that’s what I really wanted?

They were both looking at me, wearing mirrored looks of urgency and excitement. I wish I could have felt it. I wish I could have shared in the security they were feeling about their choice, but I wasn’t absolutely certain of what I wanted. I only knew what I didn’t want.

“Take me anywhere,” I said. “Anywhere but home.”

Martin picked at the sore with grubby nails until blood appeared and he licked it off his lips and the tip of his fingers. Watching me, like he expected me to ask for a taste.

I turned back to Cate, a question dying on my lips. Because for a second, just one, all I could think about was the sight of fire and smoke rising from the sharp lines of her shoulders, and the door she couldn’t open.

SEVEN

WE REACHED MARLINTON’S CITY LIMITS at seven o’clock in the morning, just as the sun decided to reappear from behind the thick layer of clouds. It colored the nearby trees a faint violet, and glinted off the wall of mist that had gathered over the asphalt. By then, we had driven past several highway exits that were barricaded with junk, rails, or deserted cars—done up either by the National Guard to contain hostile towns and cities, or by the residents themselves, to keep unwanted looters and visitors out of already hard-hit areas. The road itself, however, had been silent for hours on end, which meant that we were due for some sort of human interaction sooner or later.

It came sooner, in the form of a red semitruck. I scooted down in my seat as it whipped past us. It was headed clear in the opposite direction, but I had a perfect view of the gold swan painted on its side.

“They’re everywhere,” Cate said, following my line of sight. “That was probably a shipment to Thurmond.”

It was the first true sign of life we’d seen in all of our driving—most likely because we were cruising down Dead Man’s Highway in the middle of Butt-Freaking Nowhere—but that single truck was enough to scare Cate.

“Get in the backseat,” she said, “and stay down.”

I did as I was told. Unbuckling my seat belt, I twisted between the front seats and threaded my legs through them.