Keisha handed Dante to Newt, then jumped down and landed right next to him. It was the first time Newt had held the child, maybe the first time he’d ever held someone so young. To his surprise, the kid didn’t cry, probably too enticed by his new surroundings, probably still feeling a false sense of elation from the absence of a raging firehose. Even Newt felt that. It was fresh on his mind, and oddly made everything in the world seem a little brighter because he didn’t have a rushing explosion of ice-cold water battering his face.

One of the soldiers closed the tailgate, secured the latch. Then they headed for the doors of the truck without saying anything, opened them, readied to step up and onto the seats.

“Wait,” Newt said, handing Dante back to his mum. “What’re we supposed to do?”

The soldier on the passenger side ignored them, got in, slammed the door. The driver paused with a foot on the instep, but didn’t turn around to face them when she answered.

“Like we said, just be glad you’re alive. Hardly anyone’s being sent here anymore. Almost full. Most Cranks are just... you know. Taken care of.”

The Crank Palace. A sicker version of Newt would’ve laughed. He’d ended up here after all, even after Keisha’s less-than-subtle declaration that it had been the dumbest idea ever.

“But why?” Keisha asked, gently swaying with Dante in her arms. “If you’re offing most of the infected, then why not us? After what we did?” There was no apology in her voice. None at all.

“Are you complaining?” the soldier countered. “I’d be happy to take you to the flare pits if that’s what your heart desires. It’s what you deserve.”

Newt quickly spoke up. “No, no. Thank you. We’re fine.” He gently grabbed Keisha’s arm, tried to pull her away from the truck. He wanted nothing to do with these people ever again. But she resisted, seemed intent on getting them killed or burned in the pits.

“Why?” she asked. “What’re you not telling us?”

Even though they couldn’t see the soldier’s face, every inch of her armored body screamed out what her facial expressions couldn’t. Frustration. Annoyance. Anger. But then she relaxed, all of her muscles slackening at once, her foot dropping back to the ground. She turned toward them and spoke with that mechanized voice, void of feeling.

“It’s him.” She pointed at Newt. “They know who he is and... she wants to keep track of him. You and your kid are just lucky you made a new friend. Otherwise you would’ve been dead long before you made it to the pits. Now goodbye and have a wonderful life. Short and sweet, as they say.”

With that, she jumped in the truck and drove off, the back tires spitting up rocks and dirt.