“These buildings look different from the rest,” he says.
I see what he means. The ones near him are more broken down: partially collapsed, many with caved-in roofs and trees growing out of them. Their shapes are different—six sides, not four like most of the buildings on the map. And they are smaller, dwarfed by even the medium-sized ziggurats.
To the northeast a bit past the waterfall, I notice a thick line that intersects the map’s circle. The six-sided buildings are all on the far side of that line.
I point at it. “Is that a wall?”
Gaston reaches down with both hands, grabs the air above that section, and stretches his hands apart—the map zooms in. There is less detail now, and the image looks a bit fuzzy, but it is clearly a high, thick wall.
Aramovsky crosses his arms, frowns in thought.
“Four-sided buildings on our side of the wall, six-sided on the other,” he says. “Why would that be?”
No one answers.
O’Malley takes in a sharp breath of surprise, points. “Zoom in on that!”
Gaston does. It’s a rectangular building, big enough to hold a dozen shuttles, about halfway between us and the waterfall. The building is covered in yellow vines, like all the others, but it has a unique feature: thick, vine-draped poles rising up from the roof’s edge, as if there is an army of spear-holders down there, standing guard, weapons held high. The poles taper to a rounded tip with just the hint of a point. I almost recognize that shape.
“Those are statues of corn,” O’Malley says. “The building is a warehouse.”
We all look at him, doubtful.
O’Malley’s steady calm has vanished. His eyes are bright and his smile blazes, a smile so real and beautiful it makes my breathing stop.
“I remember something,” he says. “My father—I mean, my progenitor’s father—worked for a city. Maybe. Anyway, my progenitor saw buildings like this. They’re used to store food.”
If he’s right, that means the Grownups built this city. So where are they? What happened to them?
If that building holds food, it could mean the difference between life and death. We need to learn what plants we can and can’t eat, how to farm and hunt, but mastering those skills will probably take much longer than our supplies will last.
“It’s not far,” Gaston says. “It would only take a couple of hours to walk there.”
Aramovsky points to the glowing dot at the map’s center. “Why not just fly the shuttle right to it?”
“I’m not sure there’s a place to land,” Gaston says. “And besides, the shuttle needs fuel to fly.” He pauses, opens his mouth to say something, then closes it.
Spingate finishes for him. “We have barely enough fuel left for one trip to the Xolotl. If we fly around for other purposes—for anything—we won’t be able to go back. Not ever.”
Everyone falls silent. I hadn’t realized going back was an option. The thought is uncomfortable: if we fail on Omeyocan, our survival might depend on returning to a place where people want to kill us.
Aramovsky waves a hand dismissively. “The God of Blood sent us here. We are destined to succeed. God gave us this shuttle, and we should use it to—”
“We walk,” I say sharply, cutting him off. “Like Bishop said, we have to reconnoiter anyway, so we’ll do some of that while we go to the warehouse. If we find food there, we have more time to figure out what to do next.”
Bishop stands straighter. “I’ll take Farrar and Coyotl. We’ll move fast, come back and report to you.”
“I’ll go as well,” Spingate says.
Bishop shakes his head. “No, you’ll slow us down.”
Spingate lifts the arm with the bracer. “If we find food or water, this will tell us if it’s poisonous.”
“If we find food or water, we’ll bring some back,” Bishop says. “Then you can tell us if it’s safe.”
Spingate puts her hands on her hips.
“She’s going,” I say. “As am I.”
Bishop glares at me. So does O’Malley.
“It’s dangerous, Em,” O’Malley says. “The leader shouldn’t go out until we know you won’t get hurt.”
Once again the boys want to keep me safe. Too bad—I’m not the kind to hide away when there is work to be done.
“If I don’t face danger, I can’t ask others to do the same,” I say. “And we don’t know what plants or animals we’ll find on the way. We have no idea what might be edible here. Spingate will evaluate as we go.”
Bishop sighs, shakes his head. O’Malley forces the scowl off his face.
“Let’s get ready,” I say. “O’Malley, you and Gaston are in charge while I’m gone. We need to know everything that’s in this shuttle—and find out who’s inside those coffins.”
We set out from the shuttle: Spingate and I, along with Bishop, Coyotl and Farrar. Everyone sees us off, waving and cheering. O’Malley is staying behind. He can’t hide his concern. Is he worried about my safety? That he’ll have to keep an eye on Aramovsky? Or is he worried I’ll be with Bishop?