Isaac hadn’t fully realized his uber-sour mood until that moment. He just felt like total crap, all the excitement of reaching their destination having drained into the passing water. So many dangers. Not only Cranks, but the stupid virus that turned them into Cranks! Who knew if they were immune. Kletter surely didn’t. As smart as that lady acted and spoke, she seemed to have a hundred questions for every answer she dredged up. It didn’t help matters that she was still having a hard time with her recovery.

“Come on, Isaac,” Sadina said. “We’re gonna land in a half hour or so and you’re acting like it’s the end of the world.”

That got her a glare, and both of them knew she deserved it.

“Bad choice of words,” she muttered, trying to hold back a smile. What the hell was she so happy about?

“Just nervous,” he said. “Just anxious.”

“Me, too. But excited. And scared. I wish we knew more.”

They’d talked things to death over the two-week journey across the choppy sea, deciphering every bit of information from Kletter they could. But, mostly, their conversations consisted of guesses on top of more guesses. How many people were on the planet? How many of them were sick? Had the Flare mostly burned itself out? Were there any Cranks left, the walking nightmares of Isaac’s childhood campfire stories? They couldn’t blame Kletter too much for the lack of answers—she had lived a pretty isolated life, herself. That was the very definition of current human civilization, according to her. Life, isolated.

Isaac started to say something, hesitated, then spit it out. “I keep thinking about Cranks.”

She didn’t respond right away. The beach was only a kilometer or so in the distance now, the city behind it rising like the ugly teeth of a planet-sized god. The air smelled of salt and garbage and rot.

“I don’t think we’re going to find Cranks,” she finally said. “Not like they were when our grandpappies and grandmammies barely escaped. I mean, it’s not like those crazy people fell in love and had a bunch of babies. Not the ones . . . past the Gone or whatever. What’s left are probably descendants of the few survivors or something different. Something in-between, I guess.”

Isaac shivered with cold, and it wasn’t just the water splashing upon the wind.

“Hell’s bells,” he whispered, having no idea what he meant.

But it seemed to fit the mood just right.