I don’t break stride, but his comment chills me. What does he mean by it? He came with me to get the bracelet, but it was a close thing. The next time he disagrees with me, will he go his own way, and will he take the circle-stars with him?
I look over my shoulder at the people following us. How long have we been awake? Gaston and Aramovsky look the same, but in the short time since we came out of our coffins the circle-stars have transformed into something else. It’s not their gray color alone—it’s in the way they walk, in their hard eyes. They carry bones as weapons, and look ready to use them.
If we voted now, Bawden, Visca and El-Saffani would choose Bishop.
I face forward and keep walking. My grip tightens on the spear.
The thought of Bishop trying to take over…it makes me angry. Just like it made me angry when Yong wanted to be the leader. Just like it makes me angry when Aramovsky plays his word games in front of everyone. I was ready to stab Aramovsky when he suggested he should be in charge. I was ready to kill him.
Bishop was the leader once. Does he feel the same anger toward me that I feel toward Aramovsky? That I felt toward Yong?
Out of all of us, only Bishop and I have taken life.
I realize why his comment affected me so: if he really wanted to lead, he wouldn’t need a vote. We’re far from O’Malley and the others. The circle-stars seem to follow Bishop, not me. If he kills me here, he can make up any story he likes when he gets back, then simply declare himself the leader. Maybe someone would call for a vote, and maybe Bishop would make them back down. He used force to take over his group of marchers—what’s to stop him from doing it again?
I shake my head. I’m being crazy. Bishop wouldn’t hurt me. He likes me. He said so. And it’s not as if he tricked me to come out here, away from O’Malley and the others. I asked him to come, basically made him come. Still, I hope we finish this search soon so we can rejoin the group.
My crazy thoughts, how I lose track of things…since I woke up, it’s been so hard to control my emotions. I’m happy and laughing one second, sad the next, paranoid and ready to kill someone the moment after that. I wasn’t like this before, I’m sure of it. I don’t need to remember the faces of my parents to know I was a good girl. The way my mind seems to change directions…that frightens me even more than Bishop does.
After a time, I see the intersection where Yong died. A wide splotch of mostly dried blood-slush is all that remains. Our footprints lead away from that spot.
Bishop glances my way. I told him how I killed Yong. He must realize that this is where it happened.
El-Saffani looks back at me, asking if we need to stop here. I point the spear straight down the hall: Keep going. They do.
When I pass by the intersection, I’m careful not to step on the dried blood-slush. Down that hallway to our right is an archway door, and through it, a coffin that holds Yong’s body.
We leave the intersection behind.
From then on, no one says a word for a long time, until we reach the second intersection, the one where our two groups met. Instead of going straight like we did before, we turn right, toward where Bishop came from.
My legs recognize the difference instantly. Just like in the Garden, we’re now walking level. We must be going down the length of the cylinder instead of up the curve.
We walk for a long ways, following two neat, dense rows of footprints. When Bishop was the leader, he made his people march in orderly lines. Those footprints make it easy to retrace his path.
It’s dimmer here. The ceiling doesn’t glow as bright. In some places, round patches of it are completely dark.
I think of rot. I think of the monsters.
Hallways start to branch off. There are so many directions we could explore, but we came here for a specific reason. We follow the footsteps. Sometimes we go straight, sometimes we turn.
It isn’t long before we see bones.
The carnage begins with a few skeletons. At first I think Bishop and the others overreacted when they told us how bad it was in their area.
Then it gets worse.
The archways gape open, the stone doors neatly out of the way in their wall slots. We can see into the poorly lit rooms that we pass by, see the horrors left by the Grownups.
We had bones outside our coffin room, evidence of an intense battle, but it was nothing like this. Here, room after room is littered with death. Some of the dead are skeletons, some are withered corpses of dried flesh. Everywhere we look, it seems, skulls grin back at us.