—
It took Edie and Violet twenty minutes to haul the cooler back to the storage shed. They progressed in units of a dozen or so shuffling steps before one or the other had to stop and catch her breath. At least it gave Edie an excuse for coming back with her face damp and her breath hitching, though the efforts made it difficult for her to think ahead, to plan how she was going to break this news to Berto and Ken. Especially Berto. She remembered Anastasia’s flat certainty that they’d all be killed by their captors. Had she really believed it or was it bravado? The four had, if Edie understood Violet, all been within sight of the Wall when they were taken down. So close—if they’d harbored doubts, they must have been on the verge then of believing. Which was cruel, but maybe also better. Maybe it had all happened so suddenly that they didn’t have time to change their minds again. There was hope—and then there was blackness.
But this was still nothing she could explain to the others. To Berto. There had been Anastasia’s flippant fatalism on the walk to Ruby City, but there had also been the dogged hope of a woman injecting herself with fertility drugs in a bathroom in the godforsaken out-of-zone wastes, a woman who believed enough in the future—one possible future—to do that to herself again, and again, and again.
“Look at you two. I don’t know why you didn’t just let me do it,” Randall said as they approached. He came forward, rifle pushed around to his back, and grabbed the cooler before they could muster the breath to protest—though not as easily as he’d expected to, Edie noted. He bounced it a little, setting off the contents to loudly sloshing, to save face. “Get the door for me, Violet. I’ll take it from here.”
Violet gave him a look of disgust that Randall missed entirely. Then she went to the door and drew her key out from where it was tucked under her shirt.
“Like your little walk?” Randall asked Edie.
“Sure,” she said dully.
His face was reddening, but he bounced the cooler again and took a deep breath through his nose. “Violet must like you.” He said this loud enough for Violet to hear. “Violet doesn’t usually like anybody.”
Edie, whose mind was full of the things Violet had told her, just stared ahead, waiting for the door to open.
“Well, go on in. Ladies first,” Randall said.
The others looked up at her with relief, then curiosity. Edie turned her gaze to the floor, afraid of what her expression might give away or what their expressions might set loose in her.
Randall slung the cooler back up on the table with a grunt. “H-2-0,” he said. “You’re welcome.”
Violet hadn’t followed them inside. When Randall left, the door closed, and the OLE travelers were once again alone. Edie saw that supper had arrived in her absence. A platter of tough-looking pieces of meat. More beans and potatoes.
Edie sat by the door and peeled off her muddy socks. No way to clean them. Her bare feet were cold and shriveled, and she drew them together and grabbed her toes, feeling the question no one had quite yet dared to ask: What happened?
Finally: “Are you OK?” Wes.
She nodded mutely.
“Did something happen? Did she hurt you?”
“No,” she said. “She didn’t hurt me. But—” She swallowed, her throat tacky and dry. “She told me some things. I don’t want to be the one to say this. I guess I’ve got no choice, though.”
“What?” said Ken. “Say it.”
She looked up at Berto. He seemed genuinely baffled.
“She said the others are dead. Anastasia, Wendy, Lee. Jesse.” Her breath hitched. “She said that June sent them to a part of the Wall where she knew they’d probably be shot on sight, and they were.”
“Bullshit,” Berto said. “You believed her? Why would you believe her? She’s the one who shot Mickey. She’s obviously some kind of psychopath.” He was shaking his head fiercely, and he got up and started to pace. Ken stared ahead, expressionless. Marta scooted forward and grasped Edie around her shoulder, then pulled her close. Edie turned her head by instinct, some muscle memory from earliest childhood, and hid her eyes against Marta’s soft neck. It felt wonderful. Wonderful to be held, wonderful to finally let go, and she did, and Marta rocked her a little, humming and rubbing circles on Edie’s back, and she whispered, “I know. I know. I know.”
“Bullshit!” Berto said, getting loud now, and Marta said, not raising her own voice, “You need to stop. I know you’re hurting. But you need to stop before that man out there hears you.”
“What do I care if he hears?”
“Stop,” Marta repeated with gentle firmness.
He did. When Edie pulled back, she saw that his eyes were streaming, chest heaving, the planes of his face cut with anguish.
“Thank you, Berto,” Marta said. “Thank you. OK, Edie. Listen to me. Tell us everything she said.”
“She said—she said that June’s going to come to you tomorrow.” Edie said this to Marta. “And maybe also Wes, but you specifically. You’re going to go to a house they have near the Wall. She’s going to have you contact your husband and make him some kind of offer. She said your husband is someone important. Does that make sense to you, Marta? Do you know what she’s talking about?”
Marta exchanged a glance with Wes, then nodded.
“She said that you need to demand that we all go. Say you won’t do it if we’re separated. If she threatens you, stick to your guns. She said June will give in because you’re too important.”
“OK,” Marta said. “What then?”
Edie relayed Violet’s instructions, though there wasn’t much to them, nor were there many reassurances. I don’t know how many guards there’ll be, Violet had said. It’s going to be dangerous, no matter what. And I don’t want June killed. Whatever else happens, I won’t see her hurt.
“Why is she going to help us?” Wes asked. “She’s pretty much this woman’s daughter, isn’t she? What’s her angle?”
“She’s pregnant,” Edie said. She turned to Berto. “She’s pregnant and she wants to have the baby in-zone. She wants us to get her across the border with us.”
Berto laughed sharply. “Wait a minute. Didn’t you just say people going up to the Wall get shot on sight?”
“I asked her about that, of course,” Edie said. “And the truth is, she doesn’t know for sure. She said there are some other entry points. Some other things she knows we can try. But she was pretty straight that she couldn’t guarantee anything. It’s a risk.”
“It’s more than a risk,” Berto said.
“But what choice do we have?” asked Ken.
The five sat contemplating that question in silence.
—