So they decided, why not? There was no New York now, or Boston or Tehran, so New Orleans it was. Maybe Wright’s friends would still be alive there. Maybe they’d be gathered up with all of them again, by this “gathering one,” whatever the fuck that meant. It wasn’t much of a plan, but it was more than they’d had before. Naz caught Rojan’s gaze over the top of the fire, and saw that her little sister was grinning smugly at her. Fuck it, Naz shrugged, and grinned back. Her sister trusted everyone too quickly, but Naz also always waited too long. They had water now, and a plan. Maybe Wright wasn’t so bad after all.
They made it all the way to Wilmington, Pennsylvania, before the next shadowless found them. He was in the back of the grocery store they were trying to raid, circling the aisles. Naz had hoped he was one of the afraid ones when she spotted him. She was going to try to go around and spook him out the front door, but when he saw her, he charged, and she could tell he wasn’t going to stop. He was angry—so angry—with no way to express it. No words, no writing, no hand signs. The only thing he could do was destroy something. Maybe it was the same for the monster in New York. She just didn’t understand what anything was, and no one could tell her.
Wright was far across the store with Rojan, but after the first moment of shock, Naz was calm. The shadowless didn’t seem to recognize the arrow as Naz pulled it quickly to the string and drew it back, and did not dodge. He just kept running straight down the aisle, straight for her. That was good. It made it so she could aim an instantaneous, painless end. Her fifth of the six kills.
“What’s going on?” Wright cried as he careened around the corner of the aisle. Rojan was just behind him. “I heard the shot, I—oh, Jesus.”
“I’m okay,” Naz said. Rojan hugged her. All she could think about as she squeezed her back was that if it had been Rojan who found the shadowless and not Naz—Rojan could barely keep a backpack on, let alone fight someone to the death. Thank God Wright was with her, she realized.
“All right, no more of this spreading out to search stores and houses faster,” he pronounced at the same moment. “Anytime we go somewhere new, we need to stick together. Together is safer.”
For once, Naz agreed.
She killed her final sixth person in an open field under a moonless night one day south of Baltimore. It was Wright.
IT HAD BEEN NAZ’S TURN TO SLEEP. WRIGHT WAS UP TO TAKE over watch, and Rojan was already dreaming beside her. For once, Naz set the bow down beside her instead of looping it over one shoulder. It was giving her such a neck ache, to rest like that all the time. Her whole back was sore.
She woke because someone was calling her name softly. Then someone else said, “Shut up.”
Naz opened her eyes.
“Fuck,” Wright growled. “You made it worse.”
She was still groggy. She reached down to the dirt beside her, fingers searching for that familiar shape, even though she could already see that her bow was in Wright’s unsteady grip, arrow notched straight at Rojan. Finally her brain caught up.
“You know what we have,” Rojan was saying. “Food we share with you, and clothes that are too small for you to use anyway.”
“Bullshit,” Wright spat. He gestured at Rojan and Naz’s bag. “I’ve seen the gold. I know it’s in there, under all the clothes.”
“It’s costume jewelry,” Rojan replied. “From our mother. It’s just sentimental.”
“Then why not just give it to me?”
“Because our mother’s dead,” Naz said. Wright swiveled to point the arrow at her, and she flinched.
Wright laughed. “Not so tough now, are you?”
“You don’t know how to use it,” Naz answered. “Things could get really bad.”
“I think they already are,” he said. He pointed with his chin at the bag. “Give it to me. Now.”
“No,” Rojan said, but Naz slowly walked over nearer to her. She bent down to pick up the duffel. “It’s our mother’s,” Rojan said softly.
“My mother’s dead, too.” Wright shrugged.
“Lower the bow,” Naz said. Wright shook his head. “Lower the bow and I’ll toss the bag to you.”
Finally he did, and Naz tossed the bag over. He reached down with one hand and grabbed the strap, eyes still on them. The bow and arrow were in one hand. Rojan was sunken, like a hollow thing, but the tension was rolling off Naz in waves. She was wound tight like a coil, ready to lunge at the first opening. She knew it wasn’t worth the fight, but she couldn’t help it. The strap of their bag dropped over Wright’s head. She had let her guard down, and he had betrayed them. He had pointed an arrow at Rojan. She couldn’t let it go. Even if she got shot, she couldn’t let it go.
His free hand started to go back toward the bow, to aim at them again so he could make a getaway.
“Naz, don’t—” Rojan started to say, but it was too late.
“Motherfucker!” Naz howled as she threw herself at him.
They all shouted in the scuffle. Naz went straight for his eyes, to claw them out. Rojan ducked, covering her head. Wright was caught between trying to beat Naz off him and reaching back down to notch the arrow, but Naz knew he couldn’t fire at such close range and hit her.
That was true. Naz was too close to be shot.
But Rojan wasn’t.