Ruins

“That’s hilarious,” said Marcus. “Do you use the disguises just for emergencies, like if a group of Partials finds you in the woods, or do you actually seek them out for information and stuff?” Yoon tried to answer, but Delarosa whistled a birdcall, and the group was back on the move.

They walked for hours, almost until dark, and stopped for the night in a thick outdoor grove. This surprised Marcus, because he’d always learned to camp in the abandoned buildings that covered the island—they gave you shelter, they kept you hidden, and they were more defensible if you ever got attacked. Even the Partials used them. Once again, though, the White Rhinos seemed determined to defy expectations, and Marcus decided that they were probably avoiding the houses precisely because that was where everybody expected them to be. Delarosa chose a spot near a babbling stream, to mask any errant sounds with the white noise of the water, and kept everyone low to the ground to reduce the camp’s profile. Guards stayed along the outer perimeter, while the mysterious wagon was brought in near the center of camp.

“Help me dig a fire hole,” said Yoon.

Marcus’s eyes went wide. “You’re lighting a fire?”

“One of the benefits of staying outside,” said Yoon. She held up a pair of rabbits. “How else are we going to cook these?”

“But that’s the whole problem,” said Marcus. “We’re outside. Anyone in the area can see it.”

Yoon rolled her eyes. “Watch and learn, city boy. Hold these.” She thrust the rabbits into his hands, pulled a small shovel from her pack, and surveyed the ground around the camp. “That’s the best spot for it,” she said, pointing at the slight depression where Delarosa had left the wagon, “but we can find another.”

“We could move the wagon,” Marcus suggested.

“The Wagon Has Priority,” said Yoon, in a tone of voice that gave each word the weight of law, if not an outright religious commandment. “And trust me—you don’t want to build a fire even remotely close to it. Let’s try over here.” She walked ten paces east of the wagon, maybe twenty-five feet, and knelt down to start digging.

Marcus knelt next to her, keeping his voice even lower than usual. “So what’s in the wagon?”

“Secrets.”

“Well, yeah,” said Marcus, “but are you going to tell me what they are?”

Yoon kept digging. “Nope.”

“You do realize that we’re on the same side,” said Marcus, readjusting his grip on the rabbits. They were soft and furry, and cuddly enough to creep him out when he remembered they were dead.

“The Wagon Has Priority,” Yoon repeated. “When Delarosa tells you, she’ll tell you, and she’ll probably tell you tonight, so stop worrying. Until that happens, however, I am a soldier and I will keep my commanding officer’s secrets.”

“Your commanding officer is a convicted criminal,” said Marcus.

“So am I, remember? We all have our baggage.” Yoon paused in her digging and looked up at him. “Delarosa does what nobody else is willing to do,” she said. “It’s kind of her thing. Last year that made her a criminal; now she might be the only hope for the human race.”

Marcus thought about this, leaning closer. “Have you really been that effective? Everything we’ve heard suggests you’re a thorn in their side, causing just enough trouble to keep the army off balance but not strong enough to gain any serious ground. Do you really think you can fight them off?”

“Not yet,” said Yoon. “But eventually, yes. After.”

“After what?”

Yoon smirked. “The Wagon Has Priority.”

“Good,” said Marcus, nodding. “I was hoping you’d say that again. Cryptic answers are the best.”

Yoon finished the hole—a narrow pit, like a posthole, about eight inches across and at least twice that deep. She moved over a few inches and dug a similar hole, keeping the piles of displaced dirt close at hand, and when the second hole was finished she knocked a tunnel between them, connecting them at the base. McArthur brought her a collection of twigs and sticks and bark, and the panther, alarmingly, brought a dead cat held lightly in its jaws. It left the thing at Marcus’s feet, eyed him mysteriously, and padded back into the twilight.

Yoon could barely suppress her laughter. Marcus stared at the mauled cat in shock. “You taught it to bring food back for you?”

“That’s a dog behavior,” she said, struggling to keep her laugh quiet. “When cats bring dead animals it’s because they think you’re helpless, and they’re trying to teach you. I had a cat in East Meadow that left dead mice on my porch all the time.” She grinned and patted his head. “Poor widdle Marcus, too helpless to hunt his own kitties.”

“I don’t know if I can eat my own kitties, either.”

“I know exactly how you feel,” Yoon confided. “But meat is meat, and as little as cats have, two rabbits weren’t enough anyway. I’ll keep an eye on Mackey while she cooks, and let you know which bits are which.”

“I’ve never felt a more conflicted sense of gratitude,” said Marcus.