ZOE: No, you don’t.
VAL: No, I don’t. But would you do this for ME?
ZOE: I would EAT this thing for you.
VAL: GROSS! Now I’m DEFINITELY gonna throw up.
ZOE: Ha!
VAL: Do you think we’re close NOW? Don’t look. If you look, I’m gonna look. Just tell me if we’re close—and remember to lie.
ZOE: We’re super-super close.
VAL: SHIT!
They left the ram in the weeds with the mountain lion. Val tore off her rubber-tipped gloves and stalked away, recoiling when she saw the swoosh of blood in the road.
Halfway to the car, Val slipped on the hail—Zoe saw the sickening moment when both her feet were in the air—then crashed onto her back.
“I am done,” she said. “I mean it. Are you coming with me or not?”
“We got them out of the road,” said Zoe, helping her stand. “You want to give up now?”
“I wanted to give up a long time ago,” said Val. “I am all about giving up! Are you coming.”
She said it tensely, not bothering with a question mark.
Zoe knew Val was right: X’s father could wait. She couldn’t keep endangering people. She looked around, surprised by how far her obsessiveness had carried them. The hail was relentless. It bounced high off the road, like something boiling in a pot.
“Yes,” she said. “I’m coming.”
Val returned to the car. Zoe looked back at the ram’s broken horn, which lay in the road, a spiral in the moonlight. It seemed wrong to leave it there. She went back for it.
The horn was oddly heavy. Its interior was hollow and slick with blood. There was something mythological about it, something malevolent. Zoe wished she’d never touched it. She walked to the roadside a final time, grimaced at the ram’s frantic face, then set the horn down beside it, like a wreath. She was twenty feet from the car when Val pounded on the car horn again: four long blasts.
She looked at Val: What?! I’m coming! I’m five feet away!
But Val kept honking. Zoe slid her hands under her helmet to cover her ears.
Val pointed at her frantically. Zoe couldn’t figure out why.
Then she realized Val was actually pointing behind her.
Zoe turned in her helmet and raincoat, slow as an astronaut. Only now did the honking cease. The world rushed back in to fill the silence. Zoe heard the hail, the wind, the sound of Val rushing out of the car to help her. Why did Val think she needed help?
The ram.
It was on its feet, and charging.
Zoe wasted a half second wondering if it was a different ram. No, it had only one horn. The other was just a shattered stalk. She wasted another moment wondering if maybe the ram hadn’t really been dead. No, she’d looked right at it. She’d seen the blood around its mouth.
She tried to tell herself she was safe from whatever darkness this was. Regent had said not even a lord could take an innocent life.
It was no comfort now.
The ram flew at her with its head down, like it was rutting season. Zoe turned toward it, and bent her knees to brace herself. She told herself the animal would swerve at the last second, but every time its hooves hit the ground she felt a jolt, as if it were running on top of her heart.
She crouched low, like a wrestler. She’d grab its horns, or what was left of them, and twist them toward the ground. That was what you were supposed to do if this happened—except that this was never supposed to happen. Rams never charged at humans.
She didn’t have time for another thought.
The ram slammed into her stomach, and knocked her backward. She landed hard, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t stand up. It was like she’d been cracked open.
The animal ran at her again. Zoe reached for its horns. She couldn’t get a grip on the busted one—it was too small, too slick with blood—but she grabbed the other and tried to twist the ram away from her, which infuriated it.
Zoe kept her head down so the helmet took most of the blows. It was like the ram thought she’d stolen its other horn. The way it was raging, driving into her, bullying her backward—it was like the ram wanted its horn back.
Zoe kicked and flailed. She heard herself scream, preposterously, “I don’t have it!”
But then Val got to her. Val was there. It was going to be okay. Val was bashing the ram with a backpack.
MORE SURVIVAL SH*T.
Zoe lifted her head—a mistake. The ram sliced her cheek open with its horn. The blood felt warm on her face.
Val struck the ram again and again. She was in a rage of her own. The backpack tore open, spilling out flashlights, protein bars, bandages, rope, a whole mess of things.
The animal gave up on Zoe—and turned on Val.
It knocked her to the pavement, pushing her toward the weeds and the steep slope beyond the road. Val was on her hands and knees, trying to crawl back to the car.
Zoe searched the pile from Dallas’s backpack, hands shaking. She found a can of bear spray and a knife. The knife had a six-inch serrated blade, with a notch at the tip for gutting animals. Zoe put it in her raincoat. She’d use the bear spray if she could.
She rushed to Val. The storm had let up, but the road was speckled with hail. It looked incongruously festive, like a parade had just passed.
“I’m here,” Zoe told Val. “I’m here, I’m here.”
She grabbed the ram’s horn, and tried to spin its head toward her so she could spray it in the eyes. The ram thrashed back and forth. It was obsessed with Val now and refused to turn.
Zoe tore around to the front of the animal, her boots nearly sliding out from under her. She’d try for its eyes one more time before resorting to the knife. She’d never stabbed anything, living or dead. It occurred to her that she didn’t even know which the ram was.
The ram slammed Val’s back with its forehead. Its horn got stuck in a rip in her raincoat. It yanked her up and down, trying to shake loose. Zoe couldn’t get a clear shot at its eyes.
She drew the knife from her pocket, and stuck the animal in the side. She felt the blade pierce the hide, heard it sink into the flesh. It was a nauseating sound. Zoe knew, even then, that she wouldn’t forget it.
The ram reared up in shock, and glared at her. It was in no danger of dying, Zoe could see that. But it looked at her with something like outrage—and she unloaded the pepper spray into its eyes.
The ram staggered away, the knife in its side like a lance in a bull. It vanished behind the car.
Zoe bent over Val, who lay in a fetal position. She tried to uncurl her, but Val was too afraid. She clenched more tightly at Zoe’s touch. She wouldn’t even let her unstrap her helmet.
“It’s just me,” Zoe said softly. “Just me.”
Val answered in a shivering voice.
“Okay … Thank you … Okay.”
It crushed Zoe to see Val shaking. She leaned down and put a palm against the shaved side of her head. Val’s face was cut and bruised.
“Are you okay?” said Zoe. “I’m so friggin’ sorry.”
“Your cheek,” said Val.
“Who cares. Can you get up?”
“I think so. Crap. My back.”
“Go slow.”
“The ram … How was—how was that thing alive? Is this more Lowlands shit?”
Zoe wished she didn’t have to answer.
“Yeah,” she said. “It has to be. But we’re okay. We’re safe. The Lowlands can’t actually hurt us.”
The statement seemed to trigger something in Val. She got to her feet, refusing Zoe’s help and shouting, “WTF??”—only with the real words and several extra F’s.
“What do you mean, they can’t ‘actually’ hurt us?” she demanded. “We are bleeding actual blood. What the hell is up with you?”