We watched Dhuuxo and Intisaar gently corral two of the men close to the RV through the golden, waving stalks. They wanted to explore, it looked like. Before, that was all right. But now, whenever there was something out of the reach of the RV’s wide tires that needed investigation, we did it all together, holding hands. The risk was too great now that someone could get lost, and then forget they were lost at all.
“Will it stop?” Ursula asked me.
“It will,” I said. “In a few days. In the meantime, we should wash your jeans and then put some cloth there, to absorb the blood. Otherwise it’ll keep soaking into your clothes.”
Ursula nodded slowly. Across the field, in the shade of the RV next to Ysabelle, Zachary seemed to be sketching something on paper he had brought with him from inside. “Will it happen again?” she asked.
I didn’t know what the right answer was. If it was more true to say yes or no. I tried to imagine what you would say. “No,” I finally told her. By the time Ursula’s next period came, it was more likely that neither of us would remember any of this.
When we got back to the RV, I gave Ursula your flannel shirt I took with me when I left, to cut into strips of fabric. I kept the collar for myself, though—it’s been in my bag so long, that’s the only part of it that still smells like you. I breathed it deep, trying to picture your face. Then, terrified, I snapped my eyes open.
Ory, it’s so horrible. It’s horrible. I miss you so much, because I can’t see or hear you—but I can’t even think about you, either, not in any kind of meaningful detail. Every time I slip up and do it, I almost scream. Do you know what that’s like? Can you even imagine not being allowed to soothe your grief with memories, because what if I get it wrong? What would that mean? How far do I have to run before you might be safe? I looked up, trying not to start sobbing, and realized Zachary was sitting in front of me.
“Hello,” he finally said.
“You remember how to speak!” I gasped.
“Yes,” he said. “But . . .” He stalled. The words were slow and clumsy, as if his tongue was too cold to move. “Iron. Stony.”
I studied him for a long moment. Then I realized he’d forgotten the word for hard.
“I understand what you mean,” I said, as kindly as I could.
Zachary looked down at his fingers, at the ink stains that had soaked into the deepest layers of his skin. It was almost like he’d made his own shadow. “Hands are better,” he said.
“Okay.” I nodded.
In reply, he held them up, as if gripping a steering wheel.
“Ursula?”
“Ursula.” There was a long pause as he sifted through the remaining words he had. “Who is Ursula?”
“The driver,” I said.
“Driver.” He nodded in recognition.
“Ursula,” I called to her at the front of the RV. Zachary stayed sitting there, as if he was in a trance. He’s almost completely gone, Ory. The look on his face . . . that’s the look I never wanted you to see on mine. It was blankness. Utter blankness.
It will be terrible when we lose him. When he forgets the last thing, which is how to draw. Yesterday he drew my face for me and held it up for me to see. I didn’t realize how long it had been since I looked at myself in a mirror until he handed it to me and my eyes searched every inch of his careful portrait. My freckles, the curve of my nose, the tiny scar above my right eyebrow. Do you remember, Ory? Well, of course you do. But I’d almost forgotten.
Ursula had made her way over and crouched down beside us, finished fixing her underwear. “What is it?” she asked him.
Zachary only pointed out the side window.
We looked. Green fields, the sky, and a hazy, drifting cloud just above the driver’s-side door mirror.
“Is that smoke?” I asked.
Ursula grabbed her gun. “Not smoke,” she said. “Dust.”
It was too late to drive. They were on us before we even got back to our seats.
There was a crowd of them, at least thirty or forty. Dispersed at first, running crazily in all directions, leaving in their wake that trail of dust Zachary saw. All of them with shadows.
“My God,” Ysabelle gasped. “I’ve never seen so many.”
“Ross!” a woman suddenly shouted as she spotted our RV parked in the field. “Look, a van!” The group converged into a speeding, shadowed mass, aiming straight for us.
“What do we do?” I cried.
“Victor, Wes, Lucius, out now!” Ursula shouted.
The men snapped to attention like soldiers, grabbing whatever was there—knife, baseball bat, wrench—and shoved the door to the RV open. “Come on!” Wes bellowed at them threateningly, swinging the bat. We all spilled out behind, trying to add to the illusion that we had numbers.
“Shadowless!” a few cried. Some of the shadowed runners scattered immediately when they saw the bright ground beneath our feet. But the rest were too desperate to give up. Something small sailed by my ear as they closed in. Lucius flung a wrench. One woman was in front of the rest, eyes desperate. An axe jerked wildly in her hands as she ran.
I didn’t know how to kill someone, I realized then with horror. I didn’t know how to stop a person that determined, Ory. She was going to cut us down.
All I could hear was the keening note of her blade as it cut back and forth through the air. She howled and lunged right for Wes.