She turned and started down the jungle trail. Tool was right, she knew. They were already dead. It was stupid to even bother. The doctor was gone. Mouse was gone. Going back wasn’t going to fix any of it. But she couldn’t stop herself.

Going back didn’t make her any less of a coward, but it was the only thing she could do to get rid of the disgust for herself that weighed in her guts. Maybe if she went back, the ghosts wouldn’t hang on her so hard. Maybe she’d be able to sleep, and not feel shame.

Tool called after her, but she ignored him.

The sky overhead was bright and blue, but Banyan Town was black.

Mahlia crouched on the jungle verge, studying the place, trying to see the hidden dangers. Sweat dripped from her chin. Mosquitoes whined in her ears, but she kept watching.

Nothing moved.

Silent fields stretched to charred, smoking rubble. Black ash coated the ground, drifts filling furrows where crops had burned. Even after a day, smoke still rose in coils, gray snakes writhing up from the ground, marking where tree roots smoldered beneath the dirt. A couple of fruit trees guttered with flames deep in their bowels, black and tortured ribbons of glowing coals clawing the sky like charred fingers, all that was left of Banyan’s orchards.

Every part of Mahlia’s survivor’s instinct told her to lie low.

Walk away. Just walk away.

But still she crouched, staring at the open expanse.

She hated how exposed the fields looked. As soon as she started to cross, she’d stand out like a flare. She kept looking for better cover, some way to sneak into the town without giving herself away, but there wasn’t anything left standing.

You a coward, or not?

After half an hour of watching swirls of ravens and vultures rise and fall over town with no sign of other life, she gave up on being smart. Whatever had happened to Mouse, she needed to know, and the only way she was going to find out was if she went in.

She started across the fields, watching for signs of ambush. Ash rustled under her feet like leaves. Insects creaked and sawed in the humidity, but nothing rose to challenge her.

Halfway across the field, she found Doctor Mahfouz.

He was facedown in a black slurry of mud and ash and half-burned wheat. The mud stuck to Mahlia’s feet and legs, staining them black. She crouched and rolled him over. His glasses were shattered. She realized that the mud was from his own blood, mixing with the dirt and ash. Fates. What a mess. She wiped at the muddy shattered lenses.

He’d walked right into it. Like he was one of the soldiers who fought for the Army of God. One of those soldier boys who wore an amulet that was supposed to protect them from bullets.