I wiped at my eyes. “She said she’ll meet me at Califia, but . . . she’s on her own now and I—” I broke off, thinking of her somewhere in the wild, her pale skin blistered in the heat, miles still from the road. Or worse, in the backseat of a Jeep, the property of the soldiers, being taken back to School.
Caleb squeezed my arm. “She’s tough. As long as she stays hidden, she’ll be okay.”
We turned in to a broken town, the sun disappearing behind the distant hills. Cracks zigzagged along the pavement, rattling the green coins piled in the car’s console. The vehicle, beaten and weathered, kept going, and I felt safer with each mile that brought us closer to Califia.
“About Leif,” I started. Caleb held the map over the steering wheel, its corners pressed under his palms. We sped past empty storefronts and knots of brown, shriveled shrubs. “It wasn’t . . .”
“I know,” Caleb said quickly. “You don’t need to explain.” He set the map down and looked into my eyes. His lips were red from too much sun.
“I didn’t know if I’d ever see you again.” My voice cracked as I said it. “You shouldn’t have—”
“I wish I hadn’t run away,” Caleb replied, his voice louder than before. He slowed the car and turned to me. His green eyes were wet. He ran his finger over his brow, rubbing the dust away. “I thought about that day so much, wondered what would’ve happened if I’d been there when that animal showed up, when he threw you two in the back of that truck.”
“Where did you go?” I pulled my legs in front of me and curled into a tight ball. “What happened to you?”
Caleb rubbed his temples. “I went into the mountains. I wanted to ride until my thoughts were clear. When I came back to camp the boys were so upset. Benny . . .” Caleb sped up again, swerving around the holes filled with thick patches of weeds. “Benny was the worst.”
“Where are they now?” I saw Benny’s smile when he read a word correctly. Silas standing in the middle of their room, wearing his tutu, a cowboy hat cocked on his head.
“They’re still there . . . with Leif.” Caleb’s hand returned to the wheel. Rocks and twigs plinked against the underside of the carriage. The meaning of his words sunk in. He had left behind his home, his life, his friends . . . for me.
After a long while, Caleb went on. “I’m going with you to Califia.” He turned to me. “We’ll get there.” There was something about that word—we—that comforted me. There was no longer him. There was no longer me. There was us.
A life together seemed possible now. A life in Califia, this place across the red bridge, hidden in the hills by the ocean. They would take us in, this community of escaped orphans. I could teach there, Caleb could hunt and send out new messages to the boys in the labor camps. Eventually we’d return to School, as soon as we could make the journey. I’d go back for Ruby and Pip. Just like I’d promised.
I looked down at Caleb’s hand, letting my fingers fall through his. They stayed there, laced together, a soothing sight. The sunlight hit the side of my face, my shoulder, my bare legs.
When I turned back to the road, my feet pressed against the floor. I grabbed at the side of the window. “Caleb! Stop!” I screamed. He braked, and my body hit the dashboard.
The car skidded to a stop. “Are you okay?” Caleb asked. I nodded, pushing myself back into the seat. I rubbed the spot where my arm had met with the hard plastic console.
“What now?” I asked, pointing straight ahead.
On the road in front of us, visible in the last of the day’s light, was a van. Its tires were shredded and its windows broken. Beyond that was another car, then another, a whole line of them stretched out on the road for miles in front of us, their rusted bumpers just barely touching. The road was packed, impenetrable.
He picked up the map, looking at the thin blue line we had been following through Arizona. “This was the best route.”
I glanced out the dirt-caked window to where the roadway snaked around. Ahead of us, a hundred yards away, was a pile of sun-bleached bones.
“How did Fletcher bring you here?” Caleb asked.
“I don’t know,” I said. “It was dark. He went over the dirt sometimes.” We both got out and stood on the road, taking in the line of cars. They had been trying to get out. Whenever the plague was mentioned there was always that word: chaos.
Caleb moved to the back of the car, opening the trunk. He pulled out cans of food and grabbed a long tan sleeve filled with metal poles and fabric. There was a plastic tube for siphoning gas, and a metal container. Then he slammed the door shut.
“Let’s stay the night here,” he said, prying one of the cans open with his knife. “The troops won’t find us—they’ll know this road is blocked. Then tomorrow, we’ll turn back, and go around the way I came. Over the mountains.”