When they had no choice except to speak, they whispered.

“I’ll light the lantern,” Rector breathed. His voice was shaking, and so were his hands.

Equally quietly, Houjin said, “No.” He put a hand on Rector’s arm.

Rector yanked it away. “Why not? It’s getting dark.”

“No, it’s not,” Zeke joined in. “We’re coming up to the wall. We’re in its shadow.”

Looking up, and squinting hard—through his visor, and through the foggy air—Rector could see the great Seattle wall peeking past the thick yellow Blight. It loomed and leaned. It crowded him, all two hundred feet of it, cobbled from stone and mortar and anything solid that had been lying around when it was built.

If he’d had any breath left after riding and climbing and hiking the mile to get there, the view of the wall from here on the inside would’ve taken it all away.

“It’s still dark,” he murmured. “Still can’t hardly see.”

Houjin shook his head. “Wait until later. The light will only bounce off the fog. It’s hard to see out here no matter what you do.”

Zeke nudged Rector’s shoulder and said, “Trust us. We live here,” and he set off toward the wall.

Houjin followed him, calling back to Rector, “Don’t just stand there—we need to stick together.”

“Why’s that?” he asked, but he still hurried to catch up.

His pickax was already heavy; it already slowed him down and made him want to stop walking. Everything felt dense around him: the Blight, the humidity, the oppressive silence. His breathing came harder, and although the ache in his chest had become familiar, it rose up to something sharper. He clasped one hand across his chest and wondered what it meant, this stinging difficulty with every breath.

“Hey fellows, can we slow down?”

“You getting tired?” Zeke asked.

Houjin sighed. “Should’ve changed his filters when I told him to.”

Zeke said, “Rector, get over here by the wall. We’re not up high and safe, but at least you’ll have your back to something.”

Rector almost said, Whaddaya know—Zeke’s got more sense than I gave him credit for, but he restrained himself. And he did go to the wall and back up against it, leaning there partly for support, and partly to feel that big, solid thing at his back. It didn’t feel safe, not exactly. Not at all. But it meant that nothing could sneak up behind him.

One side at a time, he unscrewed the filter portals on his mask and replaced the used filters with clean ones from his pack. His gloved hands fumbled with them, but he refused any help and finally got both of the round charcoal disks properly installed.

The improvement was immediate, but it wasn’t vast.