Silvie’s vision distorted with a flood of tears. Her throat ached, and her chest felt hollowed by a Horde spear, but she refused to weep.

“We wait.”

“Wait for what?”

“For something to present itself.”

“We’ll turn back to Horde. Maybe we should get some water.” The prospect of turning back into a Scab unnerved Rosa more than she was letting on, Silvie guessed. Months of captivity had reached deep into her mind.

“I can’t leave him,” Silvie said, gazing ahead.

Rosa stared at the city. “No, of course we can’t. But I’d rather die by a Horde blade, fighting for my son, than by the disease. Don’t leave me here, promise me that.”

“I promise.”

THOMAS HUNTER LAY UNDER THE SAND. BARELY BREATHING through the makeshift snorkel, listening, listening, always listening. Though his ears were clogged with sand.

Most of the day had come and gone, and as of yet they hadn’t discovered him. They’d passed over the two dunes on either side of the shallow canyon he was in, but judging by the soft thudding of their hooves, they hadn’t come near enough for him to attempt anything.

He was now having serious doubts about the wisdom of the path he’d chosen. He needed a horse. The Horde had horses, but unless he lured them close enough, they would see him coming and simply run away, knowing that their greatest weapon against him was time, because with time would come the disease.

Thoughts of his skin slowly rotting elevated his pulse. He hadn’t moved for hours. He was protected from the sun, but lying in this shallow grave, he was rotting, wasn’t he?

His mind drifted back to the time when he used to dream, before he’d sworn to Rachelle that he would eat the Rhambutan fruit at least once each day to keep his mind from dreaming, a promise he’d fulfilled faithfully for thirteen years. He couldn’t remember what it felt like to dream of anything, much less another world.

Rumor had it that those in his dreams had told him that this reality was the dream. Ludicrous, of course. A hundred battles with the Horde had washed away any such fantasy.

He had three pieces of the fruit in his pocket now, but their flesh wouldn’t hold him for long. He had to find a horse.

Thomas moved deliberately for the first time in hours. Pain sliced through his muscles. The disease?

Panicked by this sudden evidence, he sat up and let the sand fall from his face and chest. For a moment he was distracted from the pain by a need to see if any Scabs were in sight. But seeing none, he turned his attention to his arms.

They had turned gray and were cracking. Pain flashed through his skin with the slightest movement.