Ruins

She patted him on the leg and walked away to spread the word to the rest of the group. Marcus was on one side of the room, discussing something with a refugee, and Samm was on the other talking to his group from the Preserve. Kira stood in the middle of the floor, not knowing who to talk to first, or what she would say, or . . . anything. She took a step toward Marcus, stopped herself, and walked straight instead, rousing the people in a line down the center of the room. She would worry about Samm and Marcus when she wasn’t running for her life.

She snorted and shook her head. If that ever happens.

She had only spoken to a few more people when Samm walked up behind her. She had learned how to use the link through him, and she felt him coming now, his data as familiar to her as his face, and just as comforting. She closed her eyes, savoring it like an old, familiar smell, then wiped the emotion from her face and turned toward him. “Samm.”

“Kira.” He stood silent, not embarrassed or awkward but simply . . . uncertain. She loved these little flashes of vulnerability from him, like cracks in his armor of supreme, quiet confidence. Knowing that he’d led a team from the Preserve and conquered the wasteland and defeated an army to be here, only to see him hesitate, unsure what to say to her, made her heart flutter in her chest.

“I heard you say we’re moving out,” said Samm.

“Yes, I was just coming to tell you.”

“Kira, when you left—”

“I know,” said Kira. “I know . . . and I don’t know.”

“This isn’t what I—” He stopped himself. “This isn’t how I intended to do this. I had months to plan what I would say when I saw you again, but when I found you I wasn’t ready.”

“You made a plan and saved my life before I even knew what was happening,” said Kira. “If that’s not ‘ready,’ I don’t know what is.”

“That kind of thing is easy for me,” said Samm. “This . . .” He paused, straightened his shoulders, and tried to start again, but she stopped him.

“I want to talk to you,” she said, “for hours and days and forever, but we can’t right now. Not here, and not while we’re still in danger.”

“You’re right,” he said, and she felt frustration and relief mingling on the link. “What can I do to help?”

Kira glanced around the room, wondering what to tell him; she saw the refugees trying to dry their clothes by the fire and came to a decision. “Take whoever you can and go to the nearest block of houses. We need all the dry clothes you can find—jackets or coats are ideal, but any shirt or pair of pants will help. We can’t let them go outside all wet like this.”

“Most of them need new shoes as well,” said Samm. “We’ll bring what we can.” He hesitated again, as if unsure whether to salute her or embrace her, then turned and called to his group; they followed him out, even Calix and Phan, and they recruited a few of the sturdier-looking refugees before they left. Kira watched them go, wondering if she’d said the right thing—if not taking him back on the spot meant she’d lost him forever, or if she even wanted him back at all.

Marcus, for his part, was already organizing the refugees into groups, taking stock of who had been lost and who was still there, and what resources they could muster for the next leg of the journey. She walked toward him, trying to think of what to say; now that she’d talked to Samm, she couldn’t leave him out. As she walked she saw Heron, still dumping out stretchers and yelling at everyone to get up, to walk on their own, to get their blood flowing. Kira still didn’t know why the girl had stayed, or if she was still planning to leave or betray them or what. Great, she thought. One more thing to worry about.

Marcus looked up as Kira approached, though he didn’t smile. He nodded toward the door Samm had left through. “They scouting ahead?”

“Getting dry clothes,” said Kira. “How’s our food supply?”

“Grim,” said Marcus, “edging toward ‘disastrous,’ but probably still shy of ‘wanton cannibalism.’ This outpost was on the last of their rations before three hundred refugees showed up; apparently they’re scheduled to evacuate today.”

“They are,” said Kira. “The next outpost will probably be just as strapped when we get there.”

“We can try to scavenge the area around it,” said Marcus, “but you’ve got to remember that every human on the island has passed through here in the last month. Even scavenging, there’s not going to be enough food for everyone.”

Talking to Marcus is so much easier than talking to Samm, thought Kira. Or maybe it only feels easy because we’re talking about easy things. Weights and measures and nuts and bolts. Why can I talk about saving the world, but not about myself?