“Reasons they might not have taken you, number one,” he begins. “If working as a Deliverer taught me anything about the Wolfpack, it’s that they are purposefully illogical about things. In their eyes, it makes them more difficult to predict. In my eyes, too. Phoenix and I’ve intercepted, oh, twenty of their ships in the past few months alone. Some are manned with minimal crews of only one or two, others have ten aboard. Makes it harder for the Resistance to plan for attacks, if that makes sense, and it messes with our minds—intercepting a small crew causes us to let our guard down, and large crews are intimidating at best, devastating at worst.”
We seem to have mutually decided to take a breath before hashing out the next steps of our plan. Hopefully we have time for a breath, because we definitely need a plan—especially with Hope unconscious in our canoe.
“So, all that said, the one thing I’ve noticed they’re consistently predictable about is that they send the compromised people back to the mainland in small batches.”
“It makes it easier to slip them back in unnoticed,” I say, knowing I’m right even before he affirms it. Which he does.
“Reason number two,” he continues, “is that Alexa was with you. She still has the markings of a Wolf—perhaps they decided to watch her for a while before jumping to conclusions about her loyalty.”
It is incredible how quickly the world can turn. How, given the choice between Alexa and Hope and Finnley, Alexa has become the most trustworthy.
“Reason number three is simple common sense.”
He says it so plainly. As if he’s communicating something as obvious as water is necessary for survival—but he’s talking to someone for whom water nearly became the opposite of survival, in a world where seawater may become the death of humanity.
Nothing makes easy sense anymore.
“There’s nowhere else for you to go,” he says, “so there’s no hurry for them to take you all at once. Leaving a spy in your group helps them study Alexa, for one, but maybe it was also an experiment—maybe they wanted to see if they’re as well-hidden as they think they are. Maybe they wanted to see how close someone could get to their lodge without knowing where to look, or knowing it exists at all.”
“Obviously, they know by now that we know about the lodge—and that we’ve actively been searching for it.”
“Obviously.”
“But they haven’t come after us, or tried to stop us.” Even as I say it, I realize that isn’t true. They’re coming at us the lazy way: by using the people we trust to do their dirty work.
“Haven’t they?” He gives a low, rueful laugh. “Between Cass and Finnley and Hope, not to mention all the island’s . . .”
“Security features?”
“Yeah.” The word is half breath, half disbelief. “All of the above says they’ve done a hell of a job so far.”
“What do you think happened to the others?”
Lonan is quiet for so long the silence folds in on itself, until my ears are acutely aware of the void where sound should be. There is not as much as a drip that rips through the silence of this cave.
Finally, he sighs. “Nothing good.”
I can’t come up with anything encouraging to offer. Their silence was a bad sign. The fact that they haven’t come looking for us—despite our radio going dark, despite our less than quiet conflict with Hope—is also a bad sign.
A skittering, scuffling sound echoes from the mouth of our cave, back around the bend where we first entered. I freeze. Even if it’s not human, it could be more beetles. Or something worse.
“We need a plan,” I say, two shades from silence. “What’s our plan?”
Now that I’ve thought of the beetles, I can’t unthink them. I imagine they are covering the low ceiling of this cave like a carpet, waiting for one of us to slice a finger or a shin, waiting to devour us. And then I try not to imagine it.
There is another noise now. Another paddle dipping in the water.
“Eden?” says the voice. “Is that you?”
Alexa.
“Get the syringe ready,” Lonan says, his voice barely audible. “Just in case.”
I used it all on Hope. I used it all.
Our canoe is in shadows, but only barely—most of this section of the cave is dotted with the turquoise glow of firefly starlight, with tiny ripples from all the dripping. If they managed to compromise Hope without any of us picking up on it, it’s possible they got to Alexa, too.
“Yeah, it’s me.” My voice shakes. “What happened? Where are Phoenix and Cass?”
“Cass collapsed up there; he was barely breathing.” She is frantic but not loud. “Phoenix and I ran to help him, and Phoenix was only a few feet ahead of me, but a tiny blow dart with blue feathers stuck him in the neck, and he collapsed, too”—she hardly pauses for a breath—“and I slipped back behind some thick trees before I could see who shot him, and before they could shoot me, and I came around here as fast as I could. What the hell is going on?”
The tip of her canoe edges around the corner. “This is going to sound pretty odd,” Lonan says, “but I’m going to need you to put your arms in the water before you come any closer.”
“Put my—what?”
“Your arms. In the water.”
But she doesn’t stop; she just keeps paddling until her boat is entirely bathed in turquoise light. Blood rushes in my head—the droplets, or even just the glow, could already have triggered her. Hope’s hologram was faint against this light unless it was underwater.
Our canoe dips as Lonan reaches over the edge. There is a clunk of wood on wood: he’s pulled Alexa’s boat right next to ours. “What are you doing?” Alexa says, wildfire words. Her eyes are wide, wide. Just like Hope’s were.
I wish I had another syringe.
Lonan is swift, strong, as he takes her hand and plunges it underwater. “It’s a test to make sure”—drip, drip, drip, water from skin, darkness—“oh, good. You’re not.”
“We had a little . . . incident,” I add. “With Hope.”
Lonan gives her a brief, not very thorough explanation. Perhaps it is the urgent tone to his voice that keeps Alexa from asking questions.
“So now we need to get inside the lodge,” he concludes.
“And when they shoot you with blow darts, what are we supposed to do?” Alexa is all bitterness, but it’s not a bad question. “What are we going to do with Hope? And assuming we find Finnley, what if she’s unconscious? Are we just going to lug them both around?”
Working out complicated plans while in a cave where I was nearly drowned: this is not something I’ve always dreamed of doing. I am a split second away from suggesting we turn back, head for the beach, catch and cook a boatload of fish. But that leaves us worse off than before, an army of three against an enemy who’ll continue to pick us off one by one. The stars will be pretty for one night, and the fish will take away the hunger pains I’ve gotten too good at ignoring—but then what?
This is our best chance at a better life, my best chance at answers. If they pick us off as soon as we emerge from this cave, at least we will have tried, rather than just accepting our fate. That would be like volunteering ourselves to be turned into spies for their horrid, greedy war. Like volunteering to become cadavers.
“We’re going to split up.” Lonan’s voice is calm and clear.