I have not slept in twenty-four hours, and despite the jerking motion of the van, and the thunderous sound of the rain, at some point, I fall asleep. When I wake, it is because Julian is speaking my name quietly. I am resting on his lap, inhaling the smell of his jeans. I sit up quickly, embarrassed, rubbing my eyes.
“We’ve stopped,” he says, although it’s obvious. The rain has faded to a gentle patter. The van doors slam; Raven and Tack are hooting, exuberant and loud. We must have made it well past the border.
The double doors swing open and there Raven is, beaming, and Tack behind her, arms crossed, looking pleased with himself. I recognize the old warehouse from the cracked surface of the parking lot, and the peaked outhouse behind Tack.
Raven offers me her hand, helping me scoot out of the van. Her grip is strong.
“What’s the magic phrase?” she says, as soon as my feet hit the pavement. She is relaxed now, smiling and easy.
“How did you find me?” I ask. She wants me to say thank you, but I don’t. I don’t have to. She gives my hand a squeeze before pulling away, and I know she knows how grateful I am.
“There was only one place you would be,” she says, and her eyes flick behind me, to Julian, and then back to me. And I know that is her way of making peace with me, and admitting she was wrong.
Julian has climbed out of the van too, and he is staring around him, wide-eyed, mouth hanging open. His hair is still wet, and has started to curl just a little at the ends.
“It’s okay,” I say to him. I reach back and take his hand. The joy surges through me again. Here it is okay to hold hands, to huddle together for warmth, to mold ourselves together at night, like statues designed to fit side by side.
“Come on!” Tack is walking backward, half skipping, toward the warehouse. “We’re packing up and moving out. We’ve lost a day already. Hunter will be waiting with the others in Connecticut.”
Raven hitches her backpack a little higher and winks. “You know how Hunter gets when he’s cranky,” she says. “We better get moving.”
I can sense Julian’s confusion. The patter of dialogue and strange names, the closeness of the trees, untrimmed and untended, must be overwhelming. But I will teach him, and he will love it. He will learn and love, and love to learn. The words stream through me—calming, beautiful. There is time for absolutely everything now.
“Wait!” I jog after Raven as she starts to follow Tack into the warehouse. Julian hangs back. I keep my voice low so Julian can’t hear.
“Did—did you know?” I say, swallowing hard. I feel out of breath, though I’ve run less than twenty feet. “About my mom, I mean.”
Raven looks at me, confused. “Your mom?”
“Shhh.” For some reason I don’t want Julian to overhear—it is too much, too deep, too soon.
Raven shakes her head.
“The woman who came for me at Salvage,” I say, persisting despite Raven’s look of total confusion. “She has a tattoo on her neck—5996. That’s my mother’s intake number, from the Crypts.” I swallow. “That’s my mother.”
Raven reaches out two fingers as though to touch my shoulder, then thinks better of it and drops her hand. “I’m sorry, Lena. I had no idea.” Her voice is uncharacteristically gentle.
“I have to talk to her before we go,” I say. “There are—there are things I need to say.” Really, there is only one thing I want to say, and just thinking of it makes my heart speed up: Why, why, why? Why did you let them take you? Why did you let me think you were dead? Why didn’t you come for me?
Why didn’t you love me more?
Once you let in the word, once you allow it to take root, it will spread like a mold through all of your corners and dark spaces—and with it, the questions, the shivery, splintered fears, enough to keep you permanently awake. The DFA is right about that, at least.
Raven draws her eyebrows together. “She’s gone, Lena.”
My mouth goes dry. “What do you mean?”
Raven shrugs. “She left this morning with some of the others. They’re higher-level than I am. I don’t know where they were headed. I’m not supposed to ask.”
“She’s … she’s part of the resistance, then?” I ask, even though it’s obvious.
Raven nods. “Top-top,” she says gently, as though that makes up for anything. She spreads her hands. “That’s all I know.”
I look away, biting my lip. To the south, the clouds are breaking up, like wool slowly unraveling, revealing patches of bare blue sky. “For most of my life, I thought she was dead,” I say. I don’t know why I tell her, or what difference it will make.