Zhang had no idea how many people were in New Orleans—if New Orleans was there at all—or how many of Transcendence there were, but judging by the number of troops they sent to help the Reds, and how unconcerned with their loss the hostage seemed to be, there was a greater chance that they were a credible threat to the city than not.
“Well, we’ll have to agree to disagree,” Zhang finally said. The phrase struck Malik and Ahmadi as funny, and they chuckled behind him. Zhang tried to ignore how utterly convinced the man in death-splattered white robes before him seemed. We’re right, he told himself. We are. It was true that none of the stories he’d heard about New Orleans quite matched up, but it was also true that none of them had been warnings either. That had to mean something. It meant more than nothing, at least. “From what we’ve heard from other survivors, and we’ve heard quite a bit, this ‘false prophet’ doesn’t sound like such a bad guy.”
“That’s because all you’ve heard are ignorant rumors. We know the truth. The Creature must fall, for the good of the world.”
“The Creature,” Zhang repeated. “There’s one I haven’t heard before.”
“It’s the true one. The only name that matters,” the hostage replied. His eyes began to dim. That all-too-familiar faraway look. It was only then that Zhang realized some of the carnage on his clothes was the man’s own, not remnants from the fight.
“He’s bleeding,” Zhang gasped. “Somewhere from the abdomen.”
“No.” The hostage coughed.
“But—”
“I refuse treatment. The sooner I’m free of you, the better.”
Zhang looked at Malik, who shrugged helplessly. Why waste medical supplies on someone we don’t really want to save, and who doesn’t want to be saved either? his expression asked.
“Don’t you want to live to see New Orleans?” Zhang asked the hostage as the rise and fall of his chest became more shallow.
He used his last conscious breath to answer. “I already know what’s there. And I will stop the Creature as part of Transcendence or not go at all. I will not let myself be forced to ride with you as you head into your doom.”
Mahnaz Ahmadi
THE NEXT DAY, THEY KNEW THEY COULDN’T WAIT ANY LONGER.
“You’ve got it?” Zhang asked. The tremor in his voice betrayed his fear.
“I’ve got it,” Malik said, clamping down even harder on his modified choke hold. “I’ll keep you still until it’s done.”
“It’ll be quick,” Fenton added grimly.
Naz sat in front of Zhang, blocking his view of his hands. She had thought they might be out of the woods, but two days after the ambush, one of his fingers had started to die. The little one, on the left side. The fire had just burned too much. By the end of the next day, it was clear that they would have to amputate it after all, before it took the rest of his hand.
“If I faint after, just throw me in one of the carriages and keep moving. I’ll come to soon enough,” Zhang said.
“You need rest,” Naz argued again, for what felt like the hundredth time. She hated that she’d said it. The tone of her voice made her wince. She’d tried to keep him in the same place she kept Imanuel and Malik and the rest of the soldiers—she couldn’t have another Paul, another Vienna. Another Rojan. But it was a losing battle.
“It’s all right,” Fenton said. “As long as he stays inside a covered carriage and keeps the bandages clean, we can continue on.”
It was settled then. “Just keep looking at me,” Naz said to him. She slipped a hand against his cheek and clenched her teeth. She waited for him to scream.
THEY STOPPED FOR ALMOST NOTHING AFTER THAT. THEY ALL began eating just once a day, and each night, everyone slept straight on the grass, as close to the carriages as possible. One horse stayed hooked into each yoke, loose enough that the animals could doze, but tight enough that all the soldiers had to do if they had to run fast was yank the straps tight and go.
Three days out from New Orleans, they broke for camp once the scouts started fainting in their saddles. Malik made do with a skeleton night watch crew, and Naz allowed them to build a small fire, just for an hour. The men were so beaten down, some of them wept when they heard her agree.
“I can’t eat,” Vienna said softly beside Naz as they huddled with the rest of the soldiers to share in the glow. “Do you want mine?”
Naz looked at Vienna’s handful of stale, brittle jerky. They were down to only that, the last scraps of dried meat from their stores at the Iowa—there was no time to hunt now, because there was no time to cook or cure anything fresh. “You have to,” she said, even though she knew how Vienna felt. She hadn’t even opened her own stash, and didn’t want to. She was just too tired to even be hungry. “Just dump it all in your mouth at once and then it’s over.”
Vienna obeyed bravely, as if it had been an order. “Thank you,” she said wearily as she tried to chew. “I’ll be able to report to my father that yes, I did eat my dinner after all today.” She smiled once she was done.
“Oh,” Naz said. “My report.” She climbed to her feet and dusted the back of her pants. She realized she’d forgotten to give Zhang her daily update on the distance left.